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FIC: The Game--Parting.... [Nov. 15th, 2008|02:04 am]
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[Current Mood |happyhappy]
[Current Music |"Moonshadow" by Cat Stevens]

Title:            The Game: Parting
Rating:           NC-17
Summary:          Holmes and Russell are about to divide forces during thier case, but they
                   cannot part without expressing thier feelings......
Disclaimer:       I do not own either main character.  Laurie R. King owns Mary Russell, and 
                   Holmes seems to own himself.  No infringement is intended.


It was decided.


Captain Nesbit busied himself with the bottle of brandy as Holmes and I turned to look at one another. The time had come to divide our forces, and it proved to be no easier than in previous experience.


We, all three, rose as one and moved out of the fire-lit room into a dim corridor of the Viceregal Lodge. My husband and I seemed to gravitate to one another, and it took only one pointed look from Holmes to send Jeffrey Nesbit away to see to my accommodations.


For this short space of time, I could only have eyes for Holmes. He was exotically seductive, with his swarthy skin, salt-and-pepper beard, and piercing gray eyes. It had been surprisingly difficult in the last week of our play-acting not to touch him. My hand had crept toward his body as if drawn by a magnet countless times, before I'd had time to remind myself of our strict gender roles. I was a man, his younger brother, as it were, and it would have been highly inappropriate to give in to my sudden impulses involving his thin lips, his brief Muslim cap, and the inadequacy of our undergarments. That was not even taking into account what Bindra might have thought of his companions' sudden exodus into their thinly clad and less than sound-proof canvas tent.


It had been a bit grueling, but we'd managed it well enough. Holmes' eyes upon me had caused several brief flashes of heat to climb into my cheeks, but that could be explained by India's extreme climate. My returned gaze had brought a few moments of uncomfortable shifting about in his seated or standing position, but our flowing garments hid a myriad of sins.


There was no hiding now, however. We were to be parted, perhaps for a long while, and it required a certain emotional response from the both of us that we'd managed to avoid for entirely too long.


His eyes were so focused and intent, that I knew he was seeing well beyond my native guise, seeing my long blond hair flowing free and my body clad in unnamable diaphanous material. Holmes could make me feel both naked and without shame without any obvious effort. His gaze was unseemly, that was all there was to it.


When we touched, it was electric. His fingertips slid smoothly along my cheek before his hand curled possessively around the nape of my neck. Before I knew what I was about, our lips were pressing urgently together and my body was pulled flush against his. The many layers of our costumes were suddenly an unbelievable vexation to me as I felt my husband harden against me. 


There was no time. There never seemed to be much time for such "non-essentials" when we were on a case. But, oh, how I wanted him! I needed most to feel him, alive and surrounding me, to imprint the shape of his body within my own skin, as a kind of talisman against the danger we would inevitably face.


Holmes fumbled about with my turban until he had loosed the end and could sweep it off of my head with one long-fingered hand. Then, his clever fingers found their way, over and under many layers of clothing until they could slide smoothly into the wetness our intense eye contact had created. 


I couldn't help throwing my head back and moaning with the intense pleasure of his long-absent touch. Naturally, Holmes took the opportunity to dip his sleek head into the curve of my throat and lavish it with the attentions of his mouth. The combination of his teeth scraping along my clavicle and his fingers plunging into me had me startlingly close to orgasm already. 


"Holmes," I whispered urgently through my panting breath. "Perhaps we might take this somewhere a bit more private!"


Dragging his tongue up the column of my throat and never ceasing the intimate movements of his hand, he husked into my ear, "Back into the sitting room, I think." His voice was deep and rough with the crackling tension between us, and it came to me amid the fog in my brain that the feel of those tones slipping languidly over me was positively indecent. The man could reduce me to a quivering mass merely with the sound of his voice.


With one final loving caress, my husband withdrew his pleasuring hand and we tumbled back through the door. As I closed and locked it hastily, I saw Holmes busily licking the fingers of his right hand clean, pleasure at the taste written clearly across his hawkish features. He met my avid gaze, his eyes half-lidded and his pupils dilated hugely, and smiled, catlike and predatory. 

Unable to restrain my unbearable desire to be in his arms, I threw myself at him, my long blond hair billowing out behind me like a golden cloud. Holmes caught me with a grunt and wasted no time in resuming his ardent plundering of my mouth. His kisses were possessive and slightly frantic as he moved us inexorably back toward the wall next to the locked door. 


Running my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, I reveled in the slight tickle of his neat beard as he blazed a trail down my throat and lower. My breasts were strapped to add verisimilitude to my male disguise, but my husband's long fingers made quick work of the obstacle, and I was soon free and bared to his hot gaze. Though I was sure it could not be appetizing after so long without bathing, I could not help but be gratified by the way Holmes hungrily attacked my breasts, swooping down to wrap his lips around one hard nipple while his free hand tweaked the other, sending an electric jolt straight to my loins. 


And then I couldn't think at all, the joyous buzz of pleasure suffusing my whole body until there was room for nothing else. I simply clutched at his head and shoulders, trying desperately to draw his body closer to mine. 


I was dimly aware of his fingers fumbling uncharacteristically at the drawstring of my trousers, and then of the cool rush of air over my lower half as he found success. With an unerring sense of direction, my husband's hand found its way to the center of my pleasure and began rubbing in measured strokes until I was moaning continuously and biting my lip to hold back my screams. "Holmes," I gasped, feeling as if I could not draw in enough oxygen. "Now, Holmes. Please! I have no desire to wait any longer to feel you inside me."


His tousled head came up and he gave me a piercing look, our noses brushing together and our laboured breath mingling in the small space between. "As usual, you speak my very thoughts, dear wife," he murmured before bringing his mouth down hard to meet mine and pressing his body full-length against me. 


As if by unspoken agreement, it was I who slid my ardent hands down his smooth flanks, pausing to caress the hard muscle hiding beneath his rough shirt, and around front to undo his trouser fastenings. He wore no undergarments, it being unusual for an Indian native to do so, and I needed only to shove the cloth down his slim hips in order to free the rigid length beneath. My hands moved instinctively to grasp it, stroking him with a firm pressure that drew a choked gasp from Holmes. I watched eagerly as his eyes rolled back in his head and a ruddy flush crept up his swarthy cheeks.


"God, Russell!" he groaned explosively. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was distinctly feral, almost wild. "You will be the death of me, woman," he breathed hoarsely, then rapidly reached down to grasp me by the thighs and lifted me until I could hook my legs over his hips, crossing my ankles hurriedly at the small of his back. 


I gasped and braced my hands against his rippling shoulders to steady myself, then gasped again, much more sharply, as without another word, Holmes plunged into me. We both groaned our delight with some abandon as he sank in to the hilt.


It was like coming home. It was like some part of me had been crying out to be filled, ever since we'd disembarked from the ship, and now that it was filled, I felt like a whole person again. 


It was certainly not our usual method of coupling, against a wall and in haste, but the abnormality seemed only to add to our excitement.


Our gazes locked as he began to move, pulling almost all the way out and then plunging in again. My fingers caressed his much-loved face of their own accord, then raked their nails lightly over his scalp, and I grinned delightedly as he shivered.


Apparently unsatisfied that I was even marginally coherent, Holmes adjusted his hands on my rear, tilting my hips a fraction further toward him.


And then I was screaming, a wave of ecstasy slamming into me, triggered by my husband's fortuitous probing. Hurriedly, Holmes covered my lips with his own, stifling my wanton cries, and picked up his pace a bit, driving into me relentlessly. 


I knew very well what his goal was, and that he would not vary his course one iota until he had achieved it, reducing me to mindless writhing and a thunderous climax. My husband was as single-minded and thorough in his marital duties as he was on any case, I'd been happy to discover.


Holmes was moving more and more erratically, so I knew he was very close to losing control, but he continued to stare into my face with steely determination, though the muscles in his jaw jumped and rippled and sweat beaded his brow. I could feel my own body hurtling toward that longed-for precipice at an exceptional rate as he pounded into me, my finger nails digging involuntarily into his back and shoulders as the waves of sensation threatened to overwhelm me. 


And then, they did.


Holmes reached a particularly deep place inside of me with one hard thrust and at the same time bent his head to sink his teeth into the flesh joining my neck and shoulder. And I simply came apart. The ripples of delight became a gushing torrent, and I clung desperately to him, my limbs shaking and my torso bowing with the force of my internal contractions around him. It was ecstasy, as it had always been with him, and I never grew tired of the sensations his body could call forth from mine. 


The knowledge that he would soon be leaving me and walking into possible danger without my protection leant a strangely poignant edge to our joining.


My husband continued to move, drawing out my climax for as long as possible. When I was again able to open my eyes, shudders of pleasure still coursing through my body, I saw from the rigid set of his shoulders and hitching breath that he was very close himself to hurtling over the cliff after me. Framing his face with trembling hands, I whispered, "Let go for me, husband."


He eyes grew impossibly darker, and he crushed his mouth to mine and began to move frantically within me. His teeth scraped my lips roughly and his hands clutched me to him almost painfully, but I reveled in his passionate abandon, joyed in the fact that I could shatter his reserve so completely. 


It was only a matter of moments before his strangled groan filled my mouth, and he stilled, his body jerking with his release, every muscle tensing. Holmes threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut, and struggled to draw breath as the exquisite sensations washed over him. I caressed the corded muscles of his neck and chest soothingly as the warmth of his emission filled me, and felt a satisfied smile stretching my abused lips as I watched him. 


Holmes was beautiful when in the throes of passion, I decided, though I doubted I could ever tell him so. All long, lithe limbs and hard muscle, ecstasy slackening his angular features.


When he finally came down, Holmes unexpectedly buried his face in the crook of my shoulder and removed one hand from my rear to wrap his arm tightly about me. "Ah, Russ," he sighed as I stroked his thinning hair and squeezed his shoulders to me.


Dropping a soft kiss behind his nearest ear, I murmured in a voice slurring with satiation, "What is it, husband?"


With a parting caress of his lips over the various love-bites I was sure peppered the skin of my neck and shoulder, he raised his head to meet my heavy-lidded eyes. Giving me a small, rueful smile, he replied, "Nothing in particular, my dear. I merely find myself singularly reluctant to be parted from my young wife." He chuckled mirthlessly as he helped me lower my wobbly legs to the floor, holding me upright as I regained some sense of balance.


"I could tell," I said simply, a satisfied smirk tugging at my lips.


My husband's gray eyes roved over my face hungrily, seemingly not able to get their fill, even after his body's satiation. His long hands came up to stroke my face, his thumbs brushing gently across brow and cheekbones as my own hands settled on his naked hips. "I love you, Russell," he murmured and lowered his lips to mine, gentle caress now rather than heated exploration.


I was a bit startled, since Holmes rarely voiced the words that had come to shape our lives. A warm glow grew in my chest, suffusing my body and joining seamlessly with my post-coital languor until I felt almost *too* alive. "And I, you," I replied with feeling as he drew back.


With one last brush of his lips against my forehead, we set about re-clothing ourselves, helping one another adjust salwar kameez and turban, and generally trying to make it look as if we had *not* just ravished one another against a Government House sitting room wall. A week on the road had already given us a disreputable air of dishevelment, so the pretense wasn't too difficult.


As we walked hand in hand down the corridor toward duty, words somehow seemed superfluous. Everything that needed saying had been said, whether by our mouths or our bodies. We were in one accord, as always, and the danger we willingly accepted had no power to detract from that unity.


We met Jeffrey Nesbit and parted, the solace of our coupling lingering in our gazes.


I would meet him again soon, in mind and body. 


There could be no other option.


Author's Note:  there we go!!!  this just had to be written, in my opinion.  Mary Russell is demure to the point of teasing in her books, so I was compelled to imagine an interlude for the two of them....I hope you enjoyed it!!!
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DTBP--Birth..... [Nov. 7th, 2008|02:34 am]
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[Current Mood |creative]
[Current Music |"Accentuate the Positive" by Bing Crosby]

Alright, here's my take on the delivery of Billie's son...hope you like it!!!

Title:       Birth
Summary:     David rushes to be with Billie when she unexpectedly goes into labor.....
Rating:      PG
Disclaimer:  This story about David Tennant and Billie Piper is fictional and is not intended to give offense....


David was pushing his new-ish Skoda to the max as he careened around yet
another London corner.

Billie was in labor, and he desperately wanted to be there for her. 

She'd phoned him from the hospital, her words bitten out between tightly
gritted teeth.  His best mate was in pain, and that would have been more than
enough to pull David out of a high-society soiree.  But the fact that she was
in pain *and* in labor served to send him sprinting out of the room without a
backward glance at Georgia or any of the other blue-bloods he'd been mingling
with.  His girlfriend wouldn't like it, but she'd probably understand.  And
David couldn't have given a flying fuck about the others.

Billie was all that mattered right now.

With some sense of relief, David sighted the bright lights of the Casualty
center just ahead, and swerved to meet the entrance ahead of oncoming traffic. 
With a hair's breadth bit of leeway, he scooted past and roared to a stop in
the closest available parking space.  Flinging the door open and leaping out of
the vehicle, he charged toward the illuminated doors without bothering to
secure the motor in any way. 

There was no room in his head for such frivolous concerns.

David burst through the double doors, startling a gaggle of nurses, and skidded
to a halt before the high counter.  "Billie Piper!" he barked, his accent
heading south in his anxiety.  "She called me an' said she's in labor.  Where
do I go?"  He made absolutely certain that his tone brooked no argument.

The young nurse behind the desk had flushed bright red as soon as she'd clapped
eyes on him, her gaze going wide and misty.  It was an expression David had
grown accustomed to since becoming the Doctor.  "M-m-mr. Tennent!" she
squeaked, then cleared her throat.  "W-well normally, Mr. Tennant, it's j-just
the family that's allowed in."  David's face fell.  "B-but," she exclaimed
hurriedly, waving a hand in the air, "I think I can make an exception this
time, Mr. Tennant.  Would that be okay, Mr. Tennant?"

David had never been so grateful to be famous. 

And why did the girl keep saying his name, anyway?

Shaking off his musings, David followed her down a featureless corridor, almost
literally on her heels.

She's in labor, she's in labor, she's in labor, his mind chanted relentlessly,
and he'd have picked the young nurse up and propelled her forward if he'd had
any inkling of his direction.  As it was, he had to exert a mighty strength of
will to rein in his impatience.

"You bloody bastard!"  The words echoed down the hall, with hearty vehemence,
and David actually felt himself relaxing slightly at this evidence of Billie's
continued vigor.  "You did this to me!  You should be sent to the ninth circle
of hell, you should, an' then you might understand my agony!"

Fed up with the less than speedy pace, David sprinted past the nurse toward a
certain unmarked door that was practically vibrating with his friend's fury and
barreled his way inside.

And then the world seemed to slow to a snail's crawl.

There was Billie, sprawled on a delivery table, her face beet red with fury and
effort and pain, her legs akimbo.  There was the doctor, probing into his
friend's unmentionables with calm efficiency.  There was Laurence, pale and
stalwart, the bones of his left hand clearly disarranged by his wife's iron

But, of course, all that mattered to David was Billie.

She was thoroughly disheveled, her now-ginger hair plastered to her sweaty face
in thick hanks, her thin hospital gown sticking to her heaving chest.  She
looked so tired, oh so tired.  Dark circles shadowed her usually dancing brown
eyes, and the skin of her face seemed to sag with fatigue.  Her entire body was
trembling, with effort or torment David couldn't tell.

All he knew clearly was that he needed to touch her.  Right now.

"David!" she exclaimed, and her utter relief was so palpable, it was something
to be grasped and clutched close and savored.

He was by her side without any conscious thought.  Suddenly her fingers were
clutching his, and his other hand was soothing her fevered brow.  His best
dinner jacket was forgotten, the presence of her young, tow-headed husband was
forgotten, the entire world was forgotten in favor of this one pained specimen
of humanity who was all that mattered to him in the universe.

"Oh, Bill," he sighed, and the longing in his voice was entirely too obvious. 
He leaned in to press a fervent kiss to the hectic skin of her forehead, and
allowed her greater purchase on his hand, steeling himself to broken bones in
the near future.  "I came absolutely as soon as you called!"

"I know, sweetheart," she murmured, her eyes shining, before hunching over
convulsively and crushing his bones into meal.  "Oh, God!"  The pain was
clearly stupendous, more than she'd ever experienced before, and David would
have given absolutely anything to bear that agony himself, if it spared her one
iota.  But he couldn't. 

There was nothing he could do for Billie, except be as supportive as possible,
and it was killing him.

"Tell me what to do, my darling," he begged, his voice cracking.  "Ask
anything, and I'll do it.  Doesn't matter what you need, I'll do it."  And he
meant it.  He'd have done his best to make the TARDIS and the Doctor a reality
if only it would save his darling Billie one moment of this misery.

Billie was gasping and straining valiantly.  "You're doing it," she ground out.
When she finally relaxed, after the seemingly endless contraction, she was
panting, her breath hitching painfully.  "You're doing it, love," she repeated,
her eyes finding his, and she gifted him with a strained little smile.  "You
alright?" she breathed shakily.

He couldn't see properly.  His vision had suddenly blurred, and he blinked
rapidly, noting with a small, unoccupied part of his mind that tears were
running freely down his cheeks.  How had he been so blessed?  What wonderful
thing could he have possibly done to be rewarded with knowing this fantastic
woman?  With having her love and regard?  Here she was, in the throes of
feminine torment, and she was kind enough to be thinking of his well-being.  It
was illogical, unthinkable, undeniable that he had been so favored.  It was
daft, but it was true, and David could only offer thanks to a God he wasn't
sure about for such benevolence.

"I'm fine, Bill, darling Billie, as if I mattered just now," he murmured
against her tense fingers.

A short bark of laughter issued from her chapped lips.  "You always matter to
me, Davy," she said firmly, and he noted with detached interest that she seemed
to have forgotten her husband in the rush of his arrival.

David's eyes slipped closed.  "I'll do anything, sweetheart, anything at all."

Like a searchlight warming his skin, he could feel his friend's eyes roving
across his face.  Eventually, she murmured, "Tell me a story, David."

And for the next few hours, he told her a story, a fantastic story that he wove
entirely from his own head, drawing from fairy tales and their time with
'"Doctor Who" and his own private fancies.  He painted an epic portrait, of
maidens and knights in armor and terrible dragons and prizes to be won.  That
the primary maiden was named Rose seemed to be a given, and that the gilded
prize was called Forever should only have been expected.

David's story carried them through endless and repeated contractions, and ever
-shortening periods of rest in between.  His lilting Scots accent distracted
her from the clenching agony in her belly and focused her as she breathed
mechanically and forcefully through each abdominal convulsion.  His soft voice
soothed her when the pain verged on overwhelming, steadied her when she wanted
to cry out that it was too much, too horrible, not worth the unbelievable
effort.  Billie believed it was worth it, and because David was there with her,
she was able to remember that conviction at every moment.  He made it possible
to endure.

When she wasn't spasming or screaming or writhing in anguish, Billie did make
an attempt to include her young husband in the goings-on.  It was just
difficult, you see, when David was in the room to think of anyone or anything
but him.  He shone like the morning star, scintillating with vivacity and
energy.  He was a force unto himself, and she had never been able to divert her
attention successfully away from such magnificence.

In the deepest recesses of her heart, Billie knew that it was David's soothing
presence, his wit, his voice, his vibrant personality that got her through the
long and arduous night.  It was nice to have Laurence there, to have the father
of her child present at its birth, but it was David who steadied and bolstered
her faltering courage.  It was David's hands that kneaded her aching back and
massaged her spasming belly.  It was David's Scots burr that broke into the
pain-filled silence to coach and encourage her in her stuttering breathing.  It
was David who distracted and enchanted her with his beautiful off-the-cuff tale
of love and adventure.  And it was David, once the inevitability of the
Cesarean section became obvious, who was there to calm her rampant fears and
gather her close to his body in a silent, supportive hug.

She clung to him, desperate and afraid, as he stroked one trembling hand over
and over again through her ratty hair.  He'd discarded his restrictive jacket
long ago, and had immediately climbed up next to her when the horrible news
came.  His long, lithe body was molded to hers in those brief moments, and all
she seemed able to do was to close her eyes and breathe in his familiar,
infinitely comforting scent.  He was solid and strong and, it seemed, the only
thing that was absolutely sure in her life just then.

It didn't occur to Billie to wonder why her husband wasn't the one she turned

It was near dawn when they took Billie away.  Her contractions were nearly
continuous, but no baby would deign to emerge.  The warring thoughts and
feelings in David's head had merged into a continual buzzing, and he was acting
on pure instinct.  Hold and protect what you love, that was the only clear
thing in his mind. 

So he did.  He held Billie, wrapped her in himself until the last possible
moment before she went under the knife.  And it was only when her gurney
disappeared into the operating theater that the serrated blade of fear stabbed
into him and twisted viciously.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.  He felt numb.  He felt consumed by the
writhing, burning, incinerating torment of his fear.  She must be okay.  She
*would* be okay!  There was no other option!

He wouldn't allow any other option.

As if he had any say in it!

With a resounding thump, David felt himself hit the floor as his body slumped
down, rendered powerless beneath the weight of trepidation.  His fear was
crushing him, grinding him down and turning his insides into a coiling,
crawling, aching mass of helplessness.  He could do *nothing*.  His heart was
about to be cut open, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent
it, to solve this impassable difficulty.

It was unbearable.

David was only dimly aware of strong hands lifting him up, hooking under his
shoulders and dragging him bodily across the hall to the bank of molded plastic
seats.  A hand shoved his head down between his knees and kept it there as wave
after wave of gagging nausea washed over him.  Once the ringing in his ears
finally receded, David could feel a heavy hand resting on his back, supportive
in its way, but obviously awkward and male.

Laurence.  He'd almost forgotten about The Husband in his single-minded focus
on Billie.  Still, he seemed a good enough bloke.  David's opinion of the lad
inched upward as he recalled how wrapped up with each other Billie and he had
been over the last few hours, how oblivious of their surroundings they'd
become.  They'd sort of forgotten Laurence, but from what David could tell, the
boy didn't mind so very much, just seemed resigned to it.

Were they really so transparent?  Or was it because her husband was so close to
Billie that he could clearly see the ties binding the two friends like rubber
bands?  He didn't seem to mind, just then, and David was grateful for small

Drawing in a shaky breath, he scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying to
will some optimism into his current attitude of abject terror.  Billie would be
fine.  Thousands of women did this everyday, and only a few of them died.

David pushed that last thought away violently.

Billie *will* be fine, he told himself firmly, ignoring the whine of fear
niggling at the edges of his mind.

Dimly, he heard his equally tense companion murmur something, and leapt at the
chance for some distraction.  "What's that?" he asked, glancing to the side.

Laurence started, looking a bit sheepish.  "Just reminding myself that
everything will be alright."

David expelled the air from his lungs in a long, forceful burst.  "It will." 
And it seemed to them both that the mere brute strength of his will could make
it come to pass.

A long silence followed in which both men lingered in their own private hells,
which were, naturally, very similar at this juncture.

Suddenly, the younger man spoke.  "I feel like Mickey, sometimes, you know."

"Wha'?" David asked, a bit bewildered.

"Like Mickey.  From your show.  I used to tune in to 'Doctor Who' all the time,
but Bill won't let me watch it now.  I'm just saying I sometimes feel like
Mickey when I watch the two of you.  You're not so far removed from your roles,
you know," he said softly.

David's eyebrows rose at this confession.  "How, exactly?" he inquired
cautiously, very aware of the possible ramifications inherent in this

The younger man's head bowed lower, and his voice became even softer.  "You
know what I mean.  You two are like one person.  Billie may love me, but you're
her other half."

The boy stated the truth baldly, without equivocation or adornment.  It was a
fact, and he didn't attempt to quibble about it. 

David could feel every part of him stilling, unsure of how to react.
"It's alright," Laurence went on hurriedly.  "I understand, like Mickey did in
the show.  I understand how it is, and it's alright.  I want my wife to have
all parts of her satisfied."

David didn't miss the blatant statement of possession.  And yet, it also seemed
that Laurence had conceded a similar kind of dominion to him, unlikely as that

They were silent for a long time.  "I'd say I was sorry, but I'm not.  Billie's
love is worth anything," David stated bluntly.

"I know," Laurence replied, and a complete understanding infused his tone.  "It
is worth it."

That seemed to be the end of the discussion, and they retreated into their own
thoughts again for an interminable time.

The silence was suddenly broken by the angry screech of an infant, and Laurence
leapt to his feet.  David's head jerked upward and his whole body stilled, like
a hound on point.  "Well," he said slowly, cautious joy suffusing his tone,
"boy or girl, that bairn's certainly got it's mum's lungs."

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he?" the younger man whispered, hugging himself in an
obvious effort to rein in his quivering impatience.

David drew in a steadying breath through his nose.  "One down, one to go," he
muttered, almost inaudibly.

By the time the surgeon emerged, nearly half an hour later, both men were ready
to either snog him senseless or wring his neck.

The doctor's eyes lingered on David's bedraggled form for a long moment, so
long that he had to wonder what had so captured the man's attention.  Probably
just a bit star-struck, he mused.  And yet....there was some heavy, inscrutable
speculation going on behind the surgeon's eyes, David was sure.

"Mr. Fox," he began, finally tearing his eyes away from David to face the young
blond.  "Everything went swimmingly.  Mum and baby are both perfectly healthy
and safe.  The surgery was textbook, and we're very hopeful that scarring will
be minimal."

Laurence seemed to sag with relief, and David's eyes slipped shut in
benediction.  "Thank God," he breathed, and was unsurprised to feel his throat
tightening painfully and his eyes stinging with tears.  Billie was blessedly
safe and whole and, most importantly, wouldn't be leaving him alone any time
soon.  And the baby, her flesh and blood, had arrived unscathed.  And David
loved the child already, as if it was his own, because it had sprung from his
Billie.  And anything so intrinsically tied to his best mate could only be
perfect, as she was.

"You may go and see her now, though she may be groggy from the anesthesia," the
doctor was saying, and David sprang to his feet, intent on reaching her side in
the shortest amount of time possible.

The doctor narrowed his eyes at the eagerness of this non-family member, but
Laurence quickly assuaged him.  "He's alright.  Billie will want him there."

That had to be the understatement of the century.

David could never recall the intervening period between standing in the hallway
and being with Billie.  All he knew was that she was suddenly there, pale and
sweaty and a bit woozy, but reassuringly *there*.  His first real recollection
was of his friend in a clean, white gown, snuggled under several blankets, and
cradling her newborn child to her breast. 

The small part of his brain that wasn't focused on Billie noted that the infant
was swaddled in a blue blanket and that he had a shock of brunette hair issuing
in wild clumps from his tiny scalp.  Like me, he thought, but without the help
of hair gel.

"David!" she breathed with obvious relief, a brilliant smile stretching her
lips, belying her exhaustion.  Her eyes shifted to her husband, and the smile
changed to something that spoke more of comfortable affection than elation. 
"Come say hello to our son, Laurie."

Both men moved instinctively to opposite sides of the small hospital bed, and
David had to consciously hold himself back, forcing himself to allow the
child's father his rights before leaping into the fray himself. 

He watched, his blood singing in his veins, as his friend carefully passed the
sleeping bundle to the awkward father.  Billie was simply radiant, her love and
satisfaction and triumph shining plainly in her warm, brown eyes.  Someone so
bedraggled shouldn't be so beautiful, but she was, there was no denying it. 
She was beautiful, and her new son was beautiful, and David felt humbled and
privileged to be included.

"Winston James Fox," Laurence murmured, running one careful finger over the
delicate little brow.

David's eyebrows rose involuntarily.  "Winston?" he said, testing the name on
his tongue and, after some thought, finding it acceptable.

Billie bit her lip, gazing at her friend with something like trepidation.  "We
thought it sounded....I don't know, solid and commanding, or something.  D'ya
like it, love?"

Infusing every bit of reassurance and support he could muster into his tone,
David said simply, "Yes, of course, darling girl.  Winston Churchill!  I mean,
wha' better namesake can you have, really?  He'll be ready to step up with an
abundance of charismatic leadership in time of crisis, at this rate!"  He
paused, then smirked wickedly.  "Though I can tell you now what his favorite
cartoon character will be."

Billie gave into a controlled bout of laughter, trying not to wince.  "I say
'poo' on your Pooh!  An' I hope to God he'll not be called 'Winnie' once he
reaches first form."

"Nah," David assured her with admirable nonchalance.  "With a mum like you,
he'll not take guff from any of the lads his age."  He glanced at father and
son, and was amused to witness the infant's small fist connect with Laurence's
chin.  "See, he's already a fighter!  Winston the Valiant and Wise.  He'll be
imagining himself a knight in armor before he reaches short pants."

Billie snorted and squeezed his hand.  "Only 'cause you'll be filling his head
with stories like that!" she exclaimed.

David swallowed fitfully at the lump that had suddenly invaded his throat.  He
would be included, it seemed, in this child's life for many years to come.  And
in Billie's.  It was almost too good to be true.  It was serendipity itself. 
He cleared his throat and pressed a fervent kiss to her pale cheek.  "I'll only
speak the truth, darlin'.  Still, he can't help but be fantastic with such
influences around him, poor little Winnie!"

A weak slap on the arm was his reward, and David had to grin, brilliantly and
ecstatically.  Billie was alive.  Her child was alive and healthy.  It was
everything he had hoped and prayed and longed for.  Well, maybe not everything
he had longed for....but it was enough.  More than enough.

The abrupt entrance of a frazzled nurse drew their attention.  "Mr. Fox," she
blurted, "There's a whole gang of reporters crowding the lobby, an' they insist
on getting a statement about Ms. Piper."  It was obvious from her tone that she
didn't approve of such shenanigans and demands, but had been compelled by a
higher authority to convey the message.

Laurence and his wife exchanged silent glances, and then the boy was
reluctantly passing his tiny burden on to David, and striding out of the small

For a very long moment, David was unable to react.  He suddenly possessed an
armful of new human, Billie's son, the infinitely fragile product of love and
duty and hope.  He was so small, was Winston, and reddish and a bit squished-
looking and oh, so beautiful.  His tiny eyes were tightly shut, and his wee
fists were clenched, as if clutching in memory the security he'd just been
forcibly evicted from.  His hair was a riot of brunette spikes, and David
wondered momentarily if desire could actually influence the characteristics of
a new baby.

After what seemed like hours, David tore his eyes away from the infant to meet
Billie's gaze.  There was something awe-struck and awe inspiring in her eyes. 
She was looking at the two of them with some unreadable and unfathomable
contemplation.  David didn't understand it, but he was, as always, content to
be the object of even her slightest attention. 

"You handle him well, Davy," she said softly, her eyes heavy with affection.

He huffed a short breath of amusement.  "Hmm, a future god-father must do his
best, I suppose."

"I suppose," she mused, then grinned, her utter happiness shining brightly from
every pore.  "I couldn't have a better man at my side."

David felt humbled and transported all at once.  "I'm happy, *so* happy to be
here, love," he breathed with every ounce of sincerity that he possessed.

With careful movements, he insinuated his long body along the edge of the
narrow hospital bed, without jostling the infant unduly.  Once their bodies
were flush, touching from heel to temple, they sighed contentedly, Winston
included, though his exhalation might conceivably be explained by some more
mundane reason.  The two adults, however, were never unsure about their mutual
ease and elation.

David reached out one trembling finger to run softly down the child's
impossibly tiny nose, and then with a grin gave the same treatment to its
mother.  Brown eyes met brown eyes, and they smiled.  "You did well, Billie, so
very well," he sighed, his tone full of artless wonder.

"Did my best, is all.  It was horribly difficult, but I had my Teninch with me,
so I got through it."  David snorted in a rather self-deprecating manner. 
"No!" she said forcefully, reaching out to grasp his chin.  "I couldn't have
done this without you, David, an' that's a fact.  I will thank God every day
that you were here with me.  That you're always with me."

And David believed her, couldn't help but believe the earnest love and
gratitude singing in her voice, shining in her face.  Impulsively, he pressed
an ardent kiss to her face, lingering just a bit too long for his own peace of
mind.  Blushing slightly and hoping Billie wouldn't notice, he focused on the
baby, passing little Winston carefully to his mother.  And then, because he
couldn't help himself, couldn't express his feelings in any other way, David
wrapped his long arms around mother and child protectively and rested his
burning face against the crown of Billie's head.

His friend was alive, healthy, and happy, and blessed with a new life.  And
that was all that really mattered, anyway.


so, i know we all want Billie's son to be David's love child (though that would hardly be a pleasant experience for little Winston), but i've decided to continue in my previous vein and portray thier relationship as friendship, with a hint of unrequited love.....i hope you won't mind, but i do think that this is the most likely reality at present........and in my view, even thier friendship is so scintilating, that no reasonable fan can object to such a portrayal.....though, if you do object, feel free to tell me, of course!! ;-)
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DTBP--Moments--NTA Awards..... [Oct. 14th, 2008|02:58 am]
[Tags|, , ]
[Current Mood |hungryhungry]
[Current Music |"Sounds of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel]

Title:         Moments
Author:        Noisseau
Rating:        PG

Disclaimer:    This story about Billie Piper and David Tennant are entirely 
                               fictional and are in no way meant to offend.

Summary:       Insight into another well-known snippet in time......


They were at the National Television Awards, and they were both in unrelieved
black.  As it happened, it wasn't a coincidence; Billie and David had had a
conference call on outfits earlier in the week, the conference consisting only
of the two of them since Camille and Noel hadn't been interested.

"You look sexy in black, love," Billie had said firmly, brooking no argument. 
"An' no velvet either!  Give me a classic black suit, shirt, and tie, mister."

He'd acquiesced of course, since he secretly agreed with her, and had been very
keen to hear the details of her frock.

So now, to the cameras, David was sure they would look like two heads merged
together on the same black body, since Billie was leaning into his arm so
heavily.  And where was the harm?  They seemed more like one head on two bodies
to him, their minds seemingly in sync every moment.  Except when it came to
music.  Billie had rubbish taste in music.

David turned his head slightly to glance down at his companion as the Most
Popular Comedy award was being read out.  She had a smile fixed on her face
that was mostly genuine, which was an improvement on most of the other grins,
or grimaces, he'd been subjected to before taking his seat. 

They both knew that it was extremely politic to play nice with the media at
every moment during one of these functions.  Always a smile, no matter what was
being said or how disappointed you might be.  It wouldn't do to look like a
crotchety old man, annoyed at not being given recognition for a particularly
amusing anecdote.

They had arrived together in a BBC studio car, holding hands all the while, at
least until they were within eyesight of the paparazzi's cameras.  They'd been
playing a bit of a game for this awards show, periodically vying with one
another about who was most likely to win an award. 

"You're gonna win."

"No, *you* are!"

"No, YOU!"

"Shut up, you prat!  You know you're totally a shoe in."

"I am not, love, I'm almost entirely rubbish, as you know!  You're the likely

Billie had made a noise eloquent in its derision.  "You're the star, me lovely.
They can't help giving you tha' little statue, as a matter of course."

"Steady on, lass!  You've been the star for longer that me," he'd retorted,
swiping at his protruding fringe.  "I don't care who you're up against, there's
no competition for my Bills."

"Idiot," she'd chided as they neared their destination, and leaned her head
briefly against his shoulder, giving his hand a final squeeze.

And now, her head had found his shoulder again.  Billie knew she was on camera,
as soon as David was announced as a nominee for Most Popular Actor, and her
requisite smile was firmly in place.  However, the vast majority of her
attention was focused on wishing very hard, indeed, for her best mate to beat
out his competitors, all of whom were wonderful at what they did.  But that
mattered not in the least.  David must win, and that was final.

And he did win.  The elation of the climactic moment gripped them both and she
was in his arms without a thought, crushed tightly against his whip-thin body,
encircled by his wiry arms.  And he was pressing his freshly shaven cheek into
her hair, which was on the ginger side these days, and kissing her with all of
the riotous happiness they both felt.

David grinned delightedly, then made a barmy face at the camera, which was
always close at hand, as he released his former co-star.  And she was laughing
at him, and they were happy once again.

And then he was off, bounding up the platform steps and weighing his newly won
award in his long fingered hand.  "I'm sorry, but whatever else happens in my
life, I just met Julie Andrews," he gushed like the consummate fanboy he was.

Billie laughed.  She could never help laughing at him, with him, in the general
vicinity of him.

David was whittering away about his "eight-year-old self," giving the often-
heard spiel about how agog he was to be living his dream, his daft "Doctor Who"

And then he began thanking, and he went and said it, in front of millions of
television viewers: he called her "Dame Billie Piper," as if she was the Queen,
as if she was the most important person in the world.  The mock-honorific set
her apart from and above every other person on his gratitude list, marking her
as special, in his eyes at least.  Billie laughed, couldn't help it, but a
place deep in her chest warmed up, like it was in a microwave oven.

He's too sweet, Billie marveled, too wonderful for the likes of me.

David wrapped up his speech--which he hadn't needed to write prematurely, by
the way, as he was an amply good off-the-cuff speaker--with a flurry of Welsh
pride and fan appreciation, and then he was striding off the stage, arm wrapped
companionably around the illustrious Ms. Andrews.

When he slipped back into their row several minutes later, notably sans statue,
it was all David could do to contain his fanboy glee, and he spent the energy
whispering excitedly into Billie's ear about his brief conversation with the
grand lady.  He finally subsided, still leaning into her shoulder, his
hand wrapped naturally within her own.

And then it was Billie's turn.  She was first in the line-up of nominees for
Most Popular Actress, and she watched with mingled sadness and embarrassment as
her humongous head emoted vociferously on the gigantic television screens.  And
when the clip was done, she found herself clapping without thinking, caught up
in the huzzah of approval and support from David at her right.  The other
competitor's clips were a blur in her mind, her entire attention focused on not
fainting or being sick or anything else equally silly.

When she was announced as the winner, Billie's eyes rolled heavenward in
relief.  She'd never have heard the end of it if David had been the sole
recipient, and between the sincere sympathy and the sincere ribbing, she'd
probably have had to brain him.

As it was, he was immediately pulling her face toward him and planting a wet
kiss on her cheek, whispering his personal congratulations into her ear.  Noel
and Camille were delighted, of course, giving her hard hugs and soft kisses to
show their approval.

And she was stumbling up to the stage, her hair unquestionably awry, but a grin
of pure elation stretching her lips.  Billie launched straight into the
thanking, unable to pluck a witty thought from her teaming brain.  She made the
usual rounds, very sincerely of course, finally coming to her best friend.

When Billie thanked him, told him that she loved him and missed him
desperately, David had a silly grin plastered on his face.  He couldn't help
it.  He was so happy; they'd both won.  Their game had been entered into under
false assumptions.  He could feel the gazes of his former co-stars boring into
him as Billie blathered on and on about his supposed magnificence, but he could
not have cared less.

She had won.  The respect of the world populous was hers, for doing some
fantastic acting in a fantastic show.  Life couldn't get better than this.

And as soon as she'd quietly returned to her aisle seat, Billie laced her arm
tightly through his and snuggled up against his side, her head finding its
place on his shoulder.

David gazed down at her unfamiliar auburn locks for a while, thinking wistfully
about how much he missed her, missed having her around everyday, missed hearing
her laugh float weightlessly across his eardrums.  After a while, he pressed a
soft kiss into her foreign hair and turned his attention firmly back toward the

And of course, it eventually came down to the wire, didn't it?  Their last
possible category, Most Popular Drama, was chocked with audience favorites. 
There was no way in hell they could possibly win!

But they did.  Their clip had been another heart-wrenching one, of course, so
the audience simply couldn't have helped rewarding so much exquisite angst. 
David hooted at her ridiculously and pulled her into a one-armed hug as she
reached instinctively for him.

And, inevitably, the camera trained on them got too eagerly close, and she
bumped into it as she pulled away from him.  She couldn't be annoyed, however. 
She was simply too happy.

All four of the principle cast were equally elated as they trudged their way
back up the neon-colored stairs to the stage.  They'd agreed during the trip
across London that Noel would be their spokesman, should they be so fortunate
to gain this ultimate honor.  David and Billie were allowed to stand back, for
once, with Camille between them, and cede the spotlight to someone they both
loved and admired.

Billie listened to Noel's confident speech with a happy grin on her face, and
eventually found her gaze drawn to her best mate, standing attentive just a few
feet away.  He seemed intent, hanging on Noel's every word, and his obvious
generosity of spirit only made her treasure his friendship even more, made her
love him and his daft forelock to a painful degree.  If David had always needed
to be the center of attention, as it was with many famous actors, Billie couldn't
imagine holding him so dear.  He could have been a chore, but he'd turned out
to be such a blessing.

The post-awards interviews were rather a blur to them both, culminating in the
unlikely circumstance of being questioned by the daughter of Ozzie Osbourne. 
None of the topics were anything new, but any tedium was worth seeing David
joking about becoming a demanding, award-winning celebrity, as if such a thing
was even possible.

The ride home wasn't anti-climactic, as Billie had expected, but was punctuated
with snorts of mirth as they exchanged anecdotes about the situations they'd
encountered and the pompous stars they'd met. 

It was comforting.  It was calming.  It was just exactly what it was supposed
to be, just she and David together as always.


Well, there you go!  I hope you enjoyed this, what amounts to a reverse-dramatization of real events.  I tried to keep the pace up, since this was a much longer clip than any of the others I've done.  I don't know about you, but I find writing about David and Billie very enjoyable, and I really, really, really, really wish more people would try it!!!!   It's fun, so give it a go!!  And also, please comment more; I'm not begging for me, but really for all the writers and especially Professor Ophelia and her Bavidology analyses.....that's a lot of work that brings much enjoyment to us all, and she deserves as many kudos as you can pour upon her sainted head!

Anyway, enought ranting....I really do hope you enjoyed the story.....
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DTBP--RPF: Moments..... [Sep. 27th, 2008|02:59 pm]
[Tags|, , ]
[Current Mood |uncomfortableuncomfortable]
[Current Music |"Lover's Cross" by Jim Croce]

Hi, guys.....

Since it's been a little slow with the Professor gone, I've wracked my brain for an idea that would get everyone involved.  What I've come up with is this:

I think we should write fic about all of those myriad clips we know and love, which are included in practically every David/Billie video on YouTube.....just short little stories are needed, since there are so many clips....or long stories if you prefer.  Also, I thought it would be nice to include either a link to a video, or better yet screen captures of the pertinent parts.

So, to get the ball rolling, I have taken three of my favorite clips, and written out some David/Billie goodness to explain them!

Come on, lazy bones, everybody join in!!   ;-)


Title:            Moments
Author:        Noisseau
Rating:        PG

Disclaimer:    These stories about Billie Piper and David Tennant are entirely fictional and are in no way meant to offend.

Summary:       Insight into a few well-known snippets in time......



Billie heard the Cybermen marching in formation up the hall behind her as she
backed away from those hemming her in from the front.  She turned to face the
former, right on cue, an appropriately horrified expression fixed on her face. 

And then she smacked directly into the lead armored figure, giving her right
wrist and the back of her hand a mighty crack and nearly toppling the entire
line of supporting artists.  She herself was thrown off balance, though she was
more concerned for the men inside the restrictive suits, reaching out her
stinging hand to try and offer them some support.

And then David was there, bounding forward to catch her under the elbow,
wrapping his arm around her waist, bending his towering frame over and around
her to form something of a protective shell.  "Bill!" he exclaimed, a soothing
hand stroking her upper arm.  "You alright, lass?"

Billie grimaced and shook her injured appendage, trying to rid herself of the
odd combination of pain and numbness.  "S'okay, I guess, just smarts a bit,"
she assured him, not wanting to make a fuss over such a trifle.

Stilling her movement gently, David bent his head momentarily over her hand and
wrist, parts of which were reddening slightly and would probably be bruised by
morning.  One long thumb slid over the angry places, as if to soothe away the

And Billie was surprised to find that it actually worked to a certain degree.

"Shall I kiss it, and make it better?" her friend queried with a cheeky grin.

She slapped at his chest without thinking, then wrinkled her nose at the
renewed ache.  "C'mon, back to work, Florence Nightingale," Billie urged him
with a tired smile.  "We can file for compensation later, maybe."

But her hand still found its way into his as they made their way back to their
marks, and her squeeze of gratitude was admirably firm.



They were running, as per usual.  Nothing new there.  Pelting down a frigid
corridor for what seemed the hundredth time, Billie followed in the wake of the
scrappy Pauline Collins and handsome Derek Riddell as the cameraman retreated
smoothly to a stop against a wall.  She could hear her co-star's trainers
pounding behind her as she prepared to round the corner and complete the shot.

One wrongly placed foot, and she could feel herself flying forward, the hard
edges of the camera lens filling her vision as she winced, anticipating a
painful impact.

But David was suddenly there, as always, to catch her as she stumbled.  The
Scot leapt forward, agile as a gazelle, and scooped her up, cradling her
against his lean body and arresting her descent abruptly.  The cameraman jerked
backwards, and the AD put out a hand to try and help, but it was all
unnecessary.  David had her, after all.

One long arm flexed around her middle, the other hand sliding down her flailing
left arm to thread his supporting fingers with hers.  She felt his quick gaze
assessing her well being, noting that she was unhurt, merely startled.

And then he was laughing, at the situation, at her, at himself.  And Billie
couldn't help joining him, now that she was safe, giggling at her own
clumsiness and leaning back against him as the sudden weakness of relief washed
over her. 

David pulled them to a stop, guffawing uproariously in her ear, and brought
their entwined hands down and around her until he could hug her properly, his
whole body enfolding hers.

"What are you, a hyena?" Billie chided, bringing her head around to grin at him
over her shoulder.

His brown eyes were soft as he gazed down at her, the corners of his eyes still
crinkled with amusement.  "Just glad my Billie's alright," he replied simply,
planting an affectionate kiss on the top of her head. 

He had yet to release her, even though she was now perfectly stable, and Billie
took the opportunity to briefly rest her head against his bony shoulder.

David smirked.  "Maybe you should try an' keep your feet under you and pointing
forward on this next take."

"Prat," she exclaimed, elbowing him in the ribs, and reached up to tweak his
long nose at the insult.

"Oi!" David protested, finally dropping her hand to rub his smarting face. 
"Less of that cheek, Miss Piper.  You'll muss my make-up, an' then there'll be
hell to pay.  Some gratitude," he muttered.

But he was still smiling.




They were onset during "Army of Ghosts," over half-way through their long
shooting schedule and still having the time of their lives.  It did put
something of a damper on things, knowing that in less than two weeks, they
would be filming the most heart-wrenching season finale either of them had ever
read.  They didn't yet know exactly what the script would entail, the final
scene being a closely guarded secret, but the knowledge that it was The End was
enough to depress the usually hearty atmosphere.

And it's not even the real End, Billie reminded herself as she slouched in her
canvas chair, waiting for the scene blocking to be completed.  She still had
four months to spend in close daily proximity to her best mate, David.  There
was no reason to worry yet. 

And where was the great loon, anyway?

Billie scanned the bustling room, noting director, lighting supervisor, focus
puller, and Nick Briggs with his ring-modulator in hand.  Off to the side, she
finally spotted David, standing alone in his brown-and-blue pinstripes and
fiddling with his Video Diary camera.

Stabbed by a sudden need for his cheery company, she sprang to her feet,
discarding her script on a nearby table, and skipped across the set toward him.
Billie had to marvel internally: she hadn't yet exchanged one word with her
co-star, hadn't even reached his side, but she already felt inexplicably better
at the mere idea of a frivolous chat with David.

As she came within reach, Billie braced herself on his shoulders from behind
and jumped a bit, planting a kiss on the back of his artfully tousled head. 
She felt some chagrin as he nearly dropped his camera, but grinned cheekily at
him anyway.  "Whatcha?" she asked, glancing from the digital camera to the
complicated tripod he was standing in front of.

"Just tryin' to get the damned thing attached without having it topple
spectacularly to the ground," he grumbled, his brow furrowing in consternation.

"Let me help," Billie ordered, dragging a nearby crate over to the opposite
side of the tripod and climbing onto it.  The higher vantage point allowed her
to see the clasps and grooves that waited to receive the detachable base on the
bottom of the camera, and in no time she had it seated properly and clicked
into place.

David grinned fondly at her.  "Billie the Piper, technology whiz!  Shoulda
called you over earlier, you clever girl.  Would have saved me much

"Tha's me, smart right down to my pants," she agreed with a smile, her tongue
peeking out from between her teeth.

"None of that knickers talk from you, if you please," he retorted, flicking the
power button and bringing out his pocket-handkerchief to clean the lens. 
"You'll get me all hot an' bothered, and wardrobe will be on my arse."

Billie giggled, her bad mood disappearing, and slapped playfully at his
shoulder.  "Teninch, indeed," she smirked, her face contorting with mirth.  "I
doubt even you could manage to punch through your pinstripes, Mr. Tennant."

She crowed delightedly at the blush that crept up his cheeks, turning the tips
of his ears red.

"Shut it, you cheeky devil, an' start recording.  Gotta document the world-
changing events taking place on the set of 'Doctor Who.' "

Still grinning at her triumph, Billie pressed the small, red button and watched
as her gangly friend shoved his face up close to the lens and began to cross
his eyes back and forth, absurdly childish as always.  Apparently, he could
even move each eye independent of the other, and Billie couldn't contain her
wild burst of laughter, clutching at her middle and causing the camera to shake
a bit.

"Oi, you're wrecking my beautiful shot, Bill," he complained, then abruptly
wrapped his long arms around her waist and swung her spiritedly off the box. 
"Here," he said, setting her down next to him before the camera, "there's not
nearly enough of my favorite Carlos in this fantastically witty video
diary.  So come on, play with me."

Billie blinked, then raised one eyebrow.

David gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to blush at his gaffe,
especially in front of his own camera.  He could always edit it out later, he
supposed.  "You know what I mean, Piper, now do something interesting and
hopefully mildly embarrassing for our faithful viewers," he ordered, drawing
her by the shoulders to stand in front of him.

Billie thought for a moment, then grinned and hooked three fingers of each hand
into the sides of her mouth and pulled her cheeks apart, her lips tightening to
expose her brilliantly white teeth.  And then she proceeded to sing the theme
song to "Mr. Ed" through her appropriately horsy mouth.

David was laughing so hard that he actually collapsed on the warehouse floor
clutching his middle, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Smirking, Billie moved quickly to train the camera on his writhing form,
saying, "This, ladies and gentlemen, is a sad specimen of a man driven mad by
his excessive use of hair products.  Let this serve as a warning to you all."

Her friend quieted slowly, grinning up at her with obvious affection.  "Tha'
was brilliant, Bill, totally unexpected!  I had no idea your talents, or your
mouth, could stretch so far," he exclaimed, then caught the baleful glare of
the costume supervisor out of the corner of his eye and hurriedly got to his

"I thank you," Billie said, sketching a bow to the camera.  "C'mon, Teninch,
give us some more of your wonky eye trick."

David performed for his Diary camera for several more minutes, his friend
looking on with fond amusement, before they received the call to take their
places for the next scene. 

Turning over control of the tripod and camera to a production assistant, David
called out at his friend's retreating back, "Drinks later, Carlos?"

Billie beamed at him over her shoulder.  "It's 'Carlos Carlos,' you dolt," she
corrected, "an' yeah, but they're on you this time.  I'm going broke supporting
your fine taste in lager!"

David grinned back, waved heartily, and shuffled off to find his mark.


Well, there you are.....what did you think? 

I hope everyone will try their hand at this!!
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(no subject) [Sep. 14th, 2008|03:29 am]
[Tags|, , ]
[Current Mood |tiredtired]
[Current Music |"Peace Train" by Cat Stevens]

Title:         The Script  (2/?)
Author:      Noisseau
Rating:      PG
Disclaimer:    This story about Billie Piper and David Tennant
                     is entirely fictional and is in no way meant to
Summary:       As the first Doctor Who series sans Billie begins
                      filming, she is intrigued by an unexpected parcel....

As soon as her friend had mentioned the page number, Billie had flipped efficiently through the stack until she could follow along with him. And she was once again amazed by his abundant talent. It was as if he was reading one of his audio books! David switched between the voices of the disparate characters without a pause, inflecting them perfectly for the given situation. You'd never know, she marveled, that he was only fifteen minutes on the side of wakefulness and without any strong stimulants to speak of.
" 'Gone where?' Donna asks with admirable patience," he continued, only pausing to sip his tea at regular intervals. "The Doctor looks away, unable to meet Donna's eye. 'I lost her,' he admits shortly, his eyes on the console. 'Well, you can hurry up and lose me!' Donna exclaims fervently. Pause. 'How d'ya mean, "lost"?' she asks dubiously. The Doctor merely raises his intense and pained gaze to hers for a long moment before leaping into action," David concluded with a flourish, making it seem as if speaking in three different accents is something less than a hardship.
"Who's a clever boy, Davy?" Billie praised him, grinning delightedly.
"Tha's just sheer talent, that is," he said with mock-pomposity, closing his eyes, lifting his chin, and smiling serenely as if to accept wide-spread acclaim and adulation with all due modesty.
"And animal magnetism, I'm sure," Billie interjected, duly taking the mickey out of him, as was their custom.
" 'Hot Scot,' remember?"
"Mmmhmmm," she agreed mildly, before taking a moment to think about the scene David had just performed for her. It was perfect, of course. Everything Russell wrote seemed to be absolutely spot on. But it was gratifying to her to know that she was not forgotten; Rose was gone, but she wouldn't be simply cast aside like all previous companions on "Doctor Who." Rose was special, she'd always known it. Billie had watched several of the old "Doctor Who" shows, and as far as she could tell, not a one of the companions had really broken the surface of the Doctor's calm, untouched exterior. The Doctor was pretty much impervious to close emotional ties. 
That is, until Russell had come along. Even when Chris Eccleston had been the Doctor, it was as if nothing and no one could come between what he and Rose had shared. There were those that tried, but it always came down to the two of them in the end. It had helped that she and Chris and gotten along; they were happy to play the best of friends, and the emotions required of the show had flowed naturally between them. 
But when David had taken over the role, it was if a nuclear explosion had occurred. They simply scintillated, onscreen and off. The chemistry between them was off the charts, and it would have been the height of thickheadedness to simply serve them with a catastrophic separation without any kind of transition period.
The Doctor had suddenly lost the love of his life. Of course he was going to be touchy about it, reluctant to talk about Rose, reluctant to share his precious memories with relative strangers. It was months since she'd been wrenched away from him, but he was still in turmoil, still closed off and vulnerable. He could deal with the crisis of the moment, but he couldn't handle a direct question about his lost Rose.
It was too poignant for words, Billie thought, her eyes tearing up without conscious effort. The Doctor needed Rose, and Rose was gone. It was as simple and as stark as that. The Doctor loved Rose, and Rose was gone. One felt for the last of the Time Lords in that moment more than you could conceivably feel for a bereaved mortal of normal life span.
Billie swiped at the corners of her eyes with her thumb, letting out a sigh of distress. As always, she just wanted to make him feel better, and she wasn't sure whether she meant the Doctor or David. The urge to fling herself at him and squeeze all of his anguish away was rather startling. And rather reassuring. She was an actress, after all. But then, she was also his close friend, so she wasn't quite sure where role began and friendship ended. And maybe they didn't separate, anyway. Most of the things Rose felt for the Doctor, she'd felt for her best mate, David. You couldn't help it, anyway, she'd reasoned. Someone so spectacular deserved a grand entrance and a fine finish. His own sparkling presence made the difference.
Sniffing wetly, Billie wiped her eyes again and cleared her throat, deciding that it was rather unproductive to simply dissolve into a maudlin heap when she knew David was on a tight schedule. Anyway, she could always do a bit of that later, after he'd performed every precious scene for her and rung off. Spending time with her best friend was much more important than indulging her wretchedness.
"Moving on, my dear," David said softly, biting his lip in commiseration as he heard the sorrowful sounds from her end of the line. He sighed, then flipped directly to the next Rose Tab. "Page thirteen, Donna is trapped in a taxicab driven by a Santa-suited Pilot Fish. The Doctor is hovering alongside the speeding taxi, wedged into the open doorway of the TARDIS. He is trying desperately to get Donna to jump across the intervening distance to escape her captor. Donna opens the cab door, looks down at the motorway streaming past, and her terror is written plainly across her face. 'I can't do it!' she cries. The Doctor's face goes still, his expression as sincere as he can make it, and says, 'Trust me.' Needing to know, Donna asks, 'Is that what you said to her, your friend? The one you lost. Did she trust you?' The Doctor's expression is fixed and intense, as if he is waging some internal debate as to how much he should tell this stranger. Suddenly, his eyes tear up, not just from the wind howling past his face. 'Yes, she did,' he says softly. 'And she is not dead, she is so alive!' His voice is fervent as he speaks plainly for the first time about Rose. 'Now jump!' And Donna jumps."
Well, that just wasn't fair, Billie thought as tears coursed freely down her cheeks. If she'd thought the first scene David had read was piercing, she couldn't even dredge up words to describe what this second one did to her. It was breaking her heart. And when David had said the Doctor's lines, his voice had dipped lower, becoming gravelly and a bit muffled. Almost as if his throat was closing up with approaching tears.
"Sometimes I hate Russell," the Scot said simply, using the heel of his hand to wipe away the wetness clinging to his eyelashes.
"Me too, David," she agreed softly, finding it difficult suddenly to force any coherent words out. Billie had always detested the way weeping made her voice sound, but at the moment she could feel no embarrassment. Only love, for the Doctor and for David. "He's a right git, sweetheart. Always going for the tragedy, the bastard. I'd have been happy if he'd let the two of them continue on their joyous way indefinitely."
"Why'd he have to mess that up?" David breathed, and Billie wasn't sure if he meant their onscreen roles or their daily off screen camaraderie. Choosing truthfulness, as she always felt compelled to do in their relationship, she pointed out, "It wasn't all his fault, love. I chose to leave, after all."
"Do you regret it?" he asked softly.
Billie sighed, and adjusted the cell phone against her ear so she could hear him more clearly. " 'Course I do. Some things I don't, I mean, I like doing other things, obviously. But I miss Rose. An' I miss you **so** much!"
The longing in her voice made him wince in sympathy. "I know, lass. Gotta live with our choices, though," he said, then realized that it sounded rather accusatory and hastened to clarify. "I mean, I feel the same way, but I understand, too."
She laughed, though it sounded a bit sad. "You're my best mate, David, an' I miss you. S'nothing wrong with that," she insisted. "But you'd better move on to the next scene. I know you're due onset soon enough, Teninch."
David grinned at the familiar nickname, feeling a warm glow in his chest that never appeared when anyone else said the homemade word. "Right!" he barked, "Onward and upward." Grabbing the next Rose colored tab, he read, "Page twenty-six, The Doctor and Donna are seated on a rooftop, commiserating about her missed wedding. Donna expresses a complete ignorance of the circumstances of the previous Christmas, what with the Sycorax and all. 'I spent Christmas day just over there, the Powell Estate, with this--family. My friend, she had this family; well they were--' The Doctor trails off, the mention of anything concerning Rose instantly taking the wind out of his sails. He takes a moment to master his pain. 'Still,' he says slowly, 'Gone now.'   Donna looks at the Doctor with sympathy and understanding. 'Your friend,' she asks, 'Who was she?' Ignoring her, the Doctor moves on, as always. No answers, no emotions," David finished in a low voice.
"Oh," Billie exclaimed softly, her face crumpling with her vexation for the Doctor. "Oh, David, it's too horrible! Makes me feel like when we were doin' that scene in Bad Wolf Bay, an' I couldn't touch you, on account of you being just a projection. As Rose, I thought everything would have been made alright, if only she could hug the Doctor." She sighed. "It's silly, I know. Guess that's the big Girl in me, wantin' to hug it all better."
"I know, I know," David agreed, remembering the turmoil he'd been in while watching Billie sob her heart out in that stark setting. Graeme Harper, the director, had been very sensitive to the stress his actors had been under that cold, wet day, and he'd tried to get the scene done as quickly as possible. And David had been grateful for his perceptiveness. The actor had been ever ready to step in and insist that enough was enough. It was bad enough for the two of them as it was; there was no need to stretch the pain out indefinitely with take after take. 
Billie sighed, then said as briskly as she could manage, "Next scene, me lovely. I don't want to make you late."
"Right, lying back and thinking of England, now," he joked, and was gratified to hear his friend's watery chuckle. Flipping to the penultimate Rose Tab, he read, "Page thirty, The Doctor is stood at the bar as Donna's botched wedding reception rages around him. He has just discovered that Torchwood is somewhere at the back of the whole mess, and is thinking furiously as he watches the happy couples gyrating on the dance floor. His gaze suddenly rests on one pair, the woman with long, blond hair flying about. It is as if the breath is suddenly knocked out of him. Images from 'New Earth' suddenly flash onscreen, interposing the dancing couple with the Doctor's memory of catching Rose as Casandra's essence leaves her. The man dips the blonde back over his arm, but the Doctor sees himself leaning down to gather the limp Rose to him protectively. The blond dancer is brought upright, smiling, her hair dangling down behind her, but all the Doctor can see is Rose's hair flowing down as he hugs her to him. He looks away from the happy couple abruptly, unable to stand the memories any longer. He breathes deeply and swallows thickly, trying to rein his mind back to the problem at hand. His expression shows that this is a hard thing, indeed," David finished disconsolately, his voice catching slightly on the last word.
Billie grimaced, her brow furrowing as she brought her trembling hand up to cover her face. It was too moving for words, that was all. It was Russell T. Davis all over, tragedy leaking out of every pore. "Oh, David," she moaned softly, her mind's eye seeing only an image of the Doctor, broken and alone and desperately trying to hold back the flood of despair in order to fix this latest problem. The lonely god, indeed.
"You may moan and sigh, my darlin', but I have to play it," the mournful voice said, insinuating itself into her ear. "An' it shouldn't be hard to do at all, what with my best mate being off, God knows where, leaving poor, wee Teninch on his own."
Billie forced a small laugh, knowing that her friend was busily whistling in the dark, trying to make the best of a bad job. "I wish I could just squeeze you to bits, right this second!" she exclaimed forcefully, having to content herself with the memory of his wiry arms wrapping around her and his warm, comforting scent enveloping her.
"An' who wouldn't want to, tha's what I'm asking?" David querried, his cheerfulness cracking a bit around the edges.
"Not a one! You're every girl's bedraggled teddy bear, Davy."
"Bedraggled?!" he exclaimed incredulously. "I'll have you know, I'm in top form! A bit skinny, perhaps, but still a 'Hot Scot,' remember?"
She smirked, her eyes slipping shut as she pictured him lounging on his god-awful sofa with his cold tea and his script. He was perfect, and he always would be, no matter how skinny he got. "Well, come on then, Hottie, finish it off. Time's a-wasting, love, an' I'll not have the whole crew breathing down my neck for monopolizing their preeminent star."
David glanced again at the wall-clock, noting the minute hand slipping past the hour, and knew that he was pushing his luck. Much as he would like to chat with his friend indefinitely, his obligations were pressing. There was always next time, after all. No matter what happened, David knew that there would always be a next time with Billie Piper. It was part of what kept him going. "Okay, Bills, brace yourself, now. Here's the last one, for this script, at least."
"Fire away, big boy!"
Flipping to the absolute last Rose Tab, David read, "Page, fifty-two, The Doctor has just had several 'goodbyes' with Donna and has stuck his head out of the TARDIS once again at the behest of her bellow. 'Oh, what is it now?' he asks, feigning annoyance. Donna looks hesitant, but plows ahead. 'That friend of yours, what was her name?' In the Doctor's eyes, you can see his soul poured out before you, vulnerable and accessible. For the first time, his essence is laid bare, and it is painful to see. 'Rose,' he says slowly and with fervor. 'Her name was Rose.' His voice is strangled as he says it, but he seems almost proud to speak the hallowed name. He disappears behind the TARDIS doors as quickly as possible, but one impression remains with Donna as the blue box dematerializes. The Doctor is in love, bereft, and in desperate need of somebody to stop him."
Billie sighed loudly, her eyes slipping shut. Damn Russell, anyway. A smirk suddenly crept over her lips as she said, "You know, love, I'm liable to get a swelled head over all this Rose Reverence. Might as well be tacked to a pedestal an' have you groveling at my feet regularly!"
David snorted, though if pressed, he couldn't have claimed that she was far off the mark. "The Cult of Rose," he mused, narrowing his eyes in thought. "It has a bit of a ring to it, I have to say. What d'ya think of semi-annual festivals and a garland of fresh roses 'round your nude statue every morning?"
"Oi, nude is it?!"
"Well, o' course, what would be the point otherwise?" he asked cheekily, grinning from ear to ear.
"I'll 'ave you know I have many sterling qualities! My hot bod is only one of them," Billie added as an afterthought, smiling contentedly at their banter.
David rose from the couch, abandoning his frigid tea, and made his way into his bedroom, well aware that he had only a few minutes left before he was due in the make-up trailer. "Wellll, yes, I suppose," he mused exaggeratedly. "You're alright for a laugh, now an' then." Smirking, he chose a set of cargo shorts and his favorite orange t-shirt from the chest of drawers, assuming that the new day would be just as sultry as the previous one.
"Thanks a lot," Billie muttered, rolling her eyes at his insults. He would have to go soon, she knew, and she could feel the reluctant tension creeping up on her as she heard him stripping off his sleep raiment and putting on something more suitable for public consumption. 
Billie had to grin reminiscently as she remembered the many times he'd stayed over at her flat, and the sight of him in the morning, groggy and mummbly, with his hair more awry than usual and clad only in boxers, which were usually covered in stop signs or reindeer or bananas or something equally unexpected. 
As a gag, she'd bought him a pair of boxers that she'd found in Carnaby Street, with the "Doctor Who" logo emblazoned across the bum and a picture of the TARDIS directly over the front placket. David had immediately blushed pink and hurriedly shoved her gift into his pants pocket, while trying to appear unruffled to the others seated around the read-through table. When Billie had casually leaned near him to murmur, "They say it's bigger on the inside," under the booming lines coming from the other end of the table, David had choked and spluttered a bit, but couldn't help joining her in quiet sniggering. And then, of course, he'd missed his cue. 
The next day, while loitering on the Interior TARDIS set waiting for the lighting crew to finish, Billie had joined him on the jump seat and asked quietly, "So, ya puttin' my present to good use yet, Teninch?" Her face had been alight with mischief, and she'd been rewarded when he glanced furtively at her and tried to pout casually as he denied taking part in such silliness. "Liar," she'd accused, her tongue peaking out between her grinning teeth. He'd confessed. Eventually.
Billie smirked, and asked over the rustle of his clothing, "You wouldn't happen to be wearing your Bigger-On-The-Inside-Pants, would you, mate? That charming gift from your extremely generous and thoughtful best friend, if you'll recall."
David giggled as he buttoned his fly over the TARDIS. "O' course I am, lass! They are my lucky pants, especially now tha' my Bills is away. An' you'll be happy to know that they always give the costume department fits. It's embarrassing to watch people's eyes widen incredulously as they stare at your crotch!" he whinged good-naturedly as he glanced in the mirror and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. No time for a shower today, he sighed, so this would have to do. Not that he regretted the way he'd spent his "morning." Not by any means. His lips pursed in a moue of disgust, and he abandoned the bathroom hurriedly, grabbing his keys and wallet and glancing about his apartment distractedly. His eyes landed on the cascade of paper on his coffee table, and he exclaimed, "Script!" and grabbed it before jogging out the front door, his cell phone still propped between his shoulder and ear.
Biting her lip to distract her sadness, Billie began to sing raucously, "Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work you go," and then whistled the next bit rather inexpertly. She smiled to herself, hearing his laughter, but also hearing the driver's side door of his Skoda slamming to. He would be ringing off soon, she knew, leaving poor Billie sprawled on her couch all night with only her box-set of "House" to comfort her.
"Shite, I'm goin' to be late," David muttered as he peeled out of the car park, and headed toward the A470 and the BBC Studios.
Billie bit her lip and furrowed her brow. "Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I really didn't want to make you late," she whimpered guiltily. Then, hearing the screech of tires, she exclaimed, "Be careful, ya stupid git!"
He laughed at her. "It's alright, silly, just went through a turn too quickly," David assured her soothingly, conscienciously using his turn signal and breaking properly through his next turn. "You know what a spectacular driver I am."
Raising a shaking hand to cover her eyes, Billie sighed in relief. "I know, I know," she replied slowly, then forced some flipancy into her tone. "I can't imagine what the studio solicitors would say if thier Golden Boy went and banged up his pretty face in a motor accident." She was trying hard to make a joke of her reaction, but it was difficult to quell the visceral reflex she'd felt at the thought of her best friend in the world hurt or, God forbid, killed. The bile stung her throat remorselessly. The thought could simply not be bourne. "Please, David, please be careful," she exorted, and was pleased that her voice didn't quaiver overly much.
His smile dropped away as he entered the motorway. "I'm always careful, darling Billie," he promised, then his mind caught on his phrasing and he was reminded of a song heard in his youth. "Oh, where have you been, Billie girl, Billie girl, oh where have you been, charming Billie?" he sang softly as he sped along the tarmac, hoping to soothe his friend's anxieties.
Billie smiled in spite of her dark thoughts. "I'm a young thing, an' cannot leave my mother? I think I'm rather past it by that count, mate. An' I seem to remember that tune was about 'Billy boy,' not 'Billie girl.' "
"Ehm, at least the first couple of lines apply, darlin'. In fact, I'm now thinkng seriously of singing it at the start of each new day, just to aleviate my woe about my missing Billie!"
She snorted with mirth at his antics and felt herself relax a bit.
"Wait a minute now!" he exclaimed suddenly, switching his cell phone from one ear to the other. "I totally forgot about this in the rush of hearing your sweet tones, love. How would you like," he paused dramatically, and Billie felt a sudden desire to brain him for his cheek, "to journey down to Cardiff tomorrow or the next day in order to perform the DVD commentary for 'Doomday,' with yours-truely, of course?"
Billie couldn't repress the squeel of delight that pushed its way past her suddenly numb lips. It was just what she'd secretly been hoping for, of course. An impromptu trip to Cardiff, to David's side, where she could squeeze him and fawn over him to her heart's content. How fantastic was this?! A slight pause was imposed on her mental glee when she realized they'd be talking candidly about thier least-favorite episode for the benefit of thier millions of faithful viewers, but it caused hardly a ripple on the lake of her sudden happiness. "My God, of course!" she exclaimed vehemently. "Here I was, expecting to spend the week doing nothin' interesting, an' you come out with that! What did you think I'd say, ya great swot?!"
David grinned happily, his eyes still scanning relentlessly over the open roadway as he neared his destination. "Well, I hoped you'd be a bit pleased," he intoned with mock-modesty.
"Pleased?!" Billie cried incredulously, feeling the inexorable urge to leap off of her sofa and pelt her way toward Cardiff immediately. "You knew I'd go berserk, you twat, an' you forgot about it all this time?"
"Ehm, I was a bit distracted by the whole personal read-through thing, an' I was plucked cruely out of a deep sleep, as well," he defended himself, though he knew it wasn't really necessary.
"Wellll, alright," Bilie admitted grudgingly, though she still felt the relentless pull toward action. She'd have to go for a brisk walk or something if she wanted to belay her body's impulse to be with her friend as soon as possible. "But you are still totally in for a beating, mister," she warned.
David smirked. "I look forward to it. And speaking of such things," he added as a sudden idea occured to him, "what say you drive up tonight and have a kip at my flat? We could catch up a bit before I have a nap after the night-shoot, since I'm free tomorrow, an' when I awaken, we could go to the studio and get the recording done. We'll make a week-end of it, how does that sound?"
Closing her eyes and grinning in anticipation, Billie replied, "Fantastic, as always! You're my knight in shining armor!" As she said it, she could picture Katherine Hepburn, graying and quivering with age, saying those words to Henry Fonda in one of her favorite older films.
"Norman, you old poop!" David exclaimed, in a perfect immitation of the great lady's distinctive accent. Sighing as he turned into the BBC car park, he saw from his dashboard clock that he was at least ten minuts overdue in the makeup truck. "I've got to dash, love," he said regretfully. "Ring me when you get here?"
"As soon as may be, Davy," Billie promised, hoisting herself from the couch already to make the first in-roads on packing.
"I look forward to it."
"Me, too," she said quietly, her riotous anticipation going still momentarily.
David came to a smooth stop in the parking space and set the hand break. "Until then, my darling," he promised as he leapt out of his compact car and sprinted toward the makeup trailer.
Billie couldn't wait.

Author's Note: Well, what did you think? I do like to focus on their obvious close friendship when I write, and I hope I've captured it adequately here. 

I am forced into making this two posts due to length, apparently.
Should I write about the commentary, or not?
I appreciate all comments!
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DTBP RPF--The Script.... [Sep. 14th, 2008|03:27 am]
[Tags|, , ]
[Current Mood |tiredtired]
[Current Music |"Peace Train: by Cat Stevens]

Title:         The Script  (1/?)
Author:      Noisseau
Rating:      PG
Disclaimer:    This story about Billie Piper and David Tennant
                     is entirely fictional and is in no way meant to
Summary:       As the first Doctor Who series sans Billie begins
                      filming, she is intrigued by an unexpected parcel....
The package arrived by special courier.
Billie was surprised by the knock on her flat door, having prepared herself for a peaceful evening's lounging about, but she managed to lever herself off of the couch with a minimum of internal complaint.
The messenger boy blushed red as soon as he laid eyes on her, and stammered, "P-package f-f-for a Miss P-Piper."
"Thanks, mate," she said smoothly, giving him a winning smile. Ignoring the puddle of goo he seemed to be melting into, Billie took the outstretched clipboard from his trembling fingers and signed her name perfunctorily.
"Huh-huhhh....Here ya go, then," the boy forced out, handing her a padded manila envelope plastered from stem to stern with packing tape.
"Thanks," she said again faintly and closed the door, her brow furrowing dubiously over the mysterious package. She was quite famous, after all, and it would certainly be within the realm of possibility for her to receive something dangerous or disgusting from a fan, well meaning or otherwise.
There was no return address, as it hadn't been sent through the post, but her own address was written out in a cramped sort of script she knew quite well. And if that familiarity hadn't clinched it, there was also a small caricature drawn next to her name picturing a small man in a trench coat holding a banana.
Billie grinned hugely at the sight, an irrepressible giggle bubbling up in her throat. She couldn't quite help hugging the package to her chest and wriggling about a bit on the spot, like an excited puppy.
"Tra la la," she trilled, skipping away from the door after locking it and plopping herself down on her lumpy and infinitely comfortable couch. Muting the episode of "House" she'd been watching, she murmured, "What's this, then, Davy?" Retrieving a pocketknife from the end-table drawer, Billie slit open the envelope's fastenings with ease, allowing its contents to spill out into her lap.
The first thing she noticed was the script. Plucking the bundled sheaf from among the slew of items, Billie saw immediately that it was the Extremely Top-Secret Script for the new "Doctor Who" Christmas special, its title "The Runaway Bride" emblazoned across the top of the page. Her tongue peeked out from between her lips, and she was tempted to simply plunge into this, the first "Doctor Who" script that would not include her. 
But, she sternly reminded herself, there must be priorities.
Shifting through the pile of other papers, she noted a business card from a massage parlor in Cardiff, with the same familiar handwriting on the back exclaiming, "Bloody fantastic!" Also, there was a Sunday morning cartoon snipped from The Times, which had her guffawing before she'd got half way through it. Stifling giggles, Billie moved on to the next stack, which proved to be several computer printouts of photographs. They were, of course, mostly of her former co-star and best mate, David Tennant, predominantly with his tongue out or bug eyes or casually picking his nose. There were a few of Russell and the rest of the crew who'd survived the series changeover. It was good to see all of them, obviously.
But Billie couldn't stop her eyes from returning to one snap of David resolutely trying to shove his own tongue up his nose. He had mad hair, and crossed eyes, and the determined set of his brow increased the comicality infinitely.
Billie collapsed against the arm of the couch, laughing helplessly and trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. He was so ridiculous and daft and endearing, it was impossible not to give in.
After several long moments, Billie regained control of herself and was able to pull the last sheet of paper from the stack. This proved to be a message scrawled in David's tight hand, saying:
"How's my best mate, then? Thought you'd
like these few things from Cardiff. Please
be gentle; Russell will kill me if he finds
out. Missing you sumfink turrible. ;-)
Call me.
Love Always,
Billie felt tears pushing against her lids as she closed her eyes against the memories. It was hard enough getting through every day Post-Doctor-Who without receiving specific information about what David was getting up to onset without her.
And it wasn't as if she didn't see him all the time when they were both in London. It was only three days gone, in fact, since she'd met him for a delicious breakfast at a corner bakery, and then spent a long day together wandering through a street bazaar, each of them sporting dark glasses and bushy mustaches as a disguise. They'd fingered the colorful shawls, marveled at the shiny bangles, and exclaimed over the unlikely but tasty foods they'd found. There had been a constant stream of banter flowing easily between them, and laughter had been their frequent companion. 
As the sun was sinking into the horizon, they'd consciously stretched the outing out as long as possible, even going so far as to make David slightly late for his studio car to Cardiff. They couldn't help it, though. It had been so nice to simply be in one another's company, without any scheduling pressure cutting their long talks short.
They'd strolled hand-in-hand along an unnaturally deserted stretch of the Thames, joking and reminiscing as if they didn't have a care in the world. Of course, there were myriad cares to be thought of, but that didn't stop them from pausing near Tower Bridge and leaning over the parapet to watch the murky water flowing beneath them. 
"Ya still gonna have fun without me?" she'd asked, leaning her head against his shoulder and batting her eyelashes at him.
He'd grinned down at her, and insisted, "Of course not, Bill, it'll be sheer drudgery, as you know!" Sighing then, he'd squeezed her hand, and the humor had leaked out of his expression. "Seriously, lass, I don't know what I'll do without you there to jolly me along. I feel like I've been given the best at the beginning, and it's only downhill from there." He'd sighed tiredly again, bringing the long fingers of his free hand up to rub at his eyes.
Worry had creased her brow momentarily, but she'd forced a grin to mask her sadness and said, "Oh, come on, Teninch, you'll be just fine! You're too much of a flirt not to win over the new girls instantly, and you'll have all the same crew there to make you feel at home. An' I'm sure you'll get to mourn Rose a bit, so there's a place for any sad stuff." Pushing back her regrets, she'd nudged him playfully with her shoulder, trying desperately to cheer him up, if only to cheer herself. "You'll be just fine," she'd repeated firmly, bringing her other hand over to rub soothingly along the back of the one she'd already clasped so tightly.
He'd turned his head, his eyes looking unnaturally bright, and whispered, "I'll miss you, Billie."
And she'd understood.
Billie opened her eyes slowly, and was slightly surprised to find herself alone in her own flat. She'd been so sure she could hear David's lilting Scots accent just next to her, sure that she could hear the echoes of his contagious laughter fading into the suddenly oppressive silence.
"Call me," was his final order, and she sat staring down at his note for a moment of indecision, chewing on her lower lip furiously. Glancing at the wall clock, which was emblazoned with the phrase "Mind The Gap," Billie saw that it was not quite half seven. So, provided he wasn't embroiled in a long night shoot, David should probably be free as a bird and even anxious to hear from her. And he shouldn't even have many lines to learn this early in the shoot; it was normally Running About Shots that held sway during the first few days.
Having made her decision, Billie grinned happily and launched herself over the arm of the sofa to retrieve her cell-phone from her handbag. Fishing it out, she righted herself, pressed his speed-dial number, and waited with bated breath for her best mate to pick up. The phone rang for a long time, and Billie had just about given up hope, when there was a fumbling noise from the other end and a mumbled, " 'ello?"
Billie smiled fondly at the familiar tones, and tried to stifle her snort of laughter. "Too much already, is it, Davy?" she asked cheekily. "Poor, ickle Teninch, is that meanie Russell overworking you?" she cooed over his sleepy grunts, her voice slightly singsong.
She heard David cough and clear his throat noisily, then, "Bill? That you, love?"
"'Course it is, David," she said lightly, a broad grin stretching her face. "Just got your parcel, an' had to hear your silly voice."
"Ach, aye," he said heartily, sounding rather better at it than she'd been oh, so long ago.
"Hoot, mon," Billie chirped in reply, feeling herself relax at their little ritual.
"How's my Billie doin' this fine morning?" he drawled, sleep still clouding his voice. She could hear him moving about in the kitchen, taking down a mug and rummaging among his collection of teas in search of the perfect wake-up-call.
"Morning?!" she asked incredulously, his appellation startling a bark of laughter from her lips. "It's half seven at night, you twit!"
She heard him chuckling lowly. "Wellllll, yes, that may be true, but it's a dark and late morning tonight for the poor, poor crew of 'Doctor Who.'" He paused. "Oi, that rhymed!" he exclaimed happily. "Talented, that's me, isn't it Billie?"
"Mmm-hmmm," she hummed, propping her feet up on the coffee table, and gazing again at the photos David had sent her. "Don't pat yourself on the back too hard. You'll knock yourself over, scrawny," she warned him, smirking.
"Hey, now! I'll have you know that women all over the world covet my hot bod!" he insisted, his Scots accent thickening with his indignation.
"Oh, David, that reminds me," Billie interjected, her free hand waving in the air as if to shush her absent friend. "I heard something on Radio Four yesterday, an' I wanted you to say it for me in your best Scottish-ese, please," she asked, giggling madly in anticipation.
"Oh, God, what is it?" The trepidation was palpable in his voice, as if he expected to be required to say something unbelievably dirty or embarrassingly silly or both at the same time. One never knew with Billie Piper, after all.
"Brace yourself, now, Teninch. Are you ready?"
David grunted dubiously as he stirred sugar into his tea.
"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "I want you to say, 'I am a hot Scot.' An' in your best Scottish burr, remember!" Her happy grin was beginning to make her cheeks ache.
Billie heard the tinkle of the teaspoon stop abruptly as her former co-star laughed incredulously. Then he was silent again for a moment, as if considering the matter, and Billie could easily picture his Thinking Pout and furrowed brow. "Well," he said slowly with some amusement, "I suppose it's only the whole truth."
"Wanker," she scolded fondly. "Come on, now, say it! I've been thinkin' about this all day!"
David sighed. "And not because my mellifluous rendering of it will make you all melty in your loins, either," he said ruefully, gratified to hear the startled burst of laughter she let out at his phrasing. He smirked, taking a preparatory sip of his Chai tea and clearing his throat again. "Alright, my darling girl, you may laugh at me to your heart's content. I make sacrifices for those I love," he said, his voice as mournful as a martyr's. One more slurp of tea, and he was ready. Dredging up memories of the old men at the pub in his hometown, whose accents were so dense as to make them unintelligible, David announced clearly and crisply, "I am a hot Scot."
Billie collapsed helplessly on the sofa, as uncontrollable belly laughter seized her and tears of mirth sprang into her eyes. David had sounded so silly and so perfect. Of course, she'd chosen the phrase purposefully for the short, deep "O" sounds and the back-of-the-throat sort of way he would pronounce the "H." And, of course, he'd known just what she wanted and given it to her freely and generously. David really was an excellent friend to take all of her ribbing so good-naturedly, and she truly did love his accent.
"Hot Scot," he said again with emphasis, joining in her childish laughter and grinning widely as he leaned back against his kitchen counter, tea in hand.
Billie had to force herself to stop laughing and relax, trying to avoid the muscle cramps she could feel forming in her abdomen. She couldn't silence her continued chuckling, however, so she leaned her head against the back of the sofa and wiped her streaming eyes, trying to breathe deeply. "Oh, David, that was absolutely priceless!" she insisted, her voice hoarse. "Really, spectacular! Even better than I imagined it." The giggles attacked her again, and she clutched convulsively at her middle.
David rolled his eyes, still smiling, and breathed in the fragrant steam rising out of his mug, hoping it would wake him up properly. "You're undeniably daft, lass. Should be carted off to Bedlam straight away."
Subsiding into chuckles again, Billie knew that she was reveling in their exchange rather more than she ought. But she simply couldn't help herself. He was just so wonderful, her David, and she had never been able to help the laughter that he induced in her. They'd spent the nine months of the shoot giggling madly, and she had found it very trying to give that kind of constant joy up. It was sort of an elixir of life that had infused her for so long, and she'd felt rather dead without it. The fact was that, after such a long exposure to his manic energy, she needed him. She needed to talk with him and be in his presence as she'd never needed another human being before. It was rather alarming, but Billie chose not to question it too deeply. It was a fact, an undeniable and bold-faced fact, and she was not in any mood to dispute it.
"Mmmm," he hummed, sipping his spicy tea. "So, what are you up to without me there, Bill? Ye getting into trouble already?" he asked, a smile stretching his lips.
" 'Course not, Davy, just sitting around, doing nothin' mostly. I don't start shooting 'til next week, so I'm just being selfish an' watching telly."
"Ah," he intoned wisely. " 'House,' I deduce."
Billie rolled her eyes and smirked. "Come on, David, you know Hugh Laurie's a hottie. Even with the American accent," she insisted, settling back more comfortably against the couch cushions.
"Yes, yes, I fancy him mightily, I do," he said sarcastically, a smile playing over his lips.
"Mmm, yes," she agreed, her eyes focused momentarily on the television. "I just want to kiss him to shut up his bitchy ranting!"
David's eyebrows rose, and he took another fortifying sip of tea. "My, my, Bill, you are predatory, aren't ye?"
"A bit, yeah," she conceded, grinning widely.
"Well, I'm glad I'm safely in Cardiff, then," he said.
Billie's smile dropped away abruptly, and she suddenly felt very alone, even in the midst of the bustling metropolis that was London. "I'm not," she whispered, then froze, afraid she'd sounded entirely too clingy. 
David sighed quietly and allowed his eyes to slide shut. This was not unexpected, but he'd hoped that his friend wouldn't notice his absence quite so keenly. He'd also hoped the opposite, of course, but he'd been willing to pull back a little from their months-long intimacy, for his own sanity as well as for hers. If they couldn't be constantly in one another's presence, he'd reasoned, then it was probably better to take deep, calming breaths and think about something else for a while, until they **could** have some real form of contact. They had to learn to live without one another, or their lives would be rather hellish for the foreseeable future.
He heard her slap her hand over her mouth and knew she felt embarrassingly like an annoying barnacle stuck to the hull of a ship. David smiled indulgently, and a little sadly. "It's alright," he soothed, "I miss you, too, darlin'. Catherine Tate's a right laugh, but I find myself wishing you were here to hold my hand and bat your eyelashes at me."
Billie smiled, her eyes tearing up just a bit, and retorted, "Oi! You sayin' I'm not funny, as well?"
"No! No, o' course not!" David insisted quickly, his eyes widening in alarm at his gaffe. "My Billie is top notch funny. Hilarious, even. Side-splittingly, uproariously fun--"
"Alright, alright, you can stop now!" Billie exclaimed, giggling at his overreaction to her tease. 
"Crikey!" he said quietly, and only just stopped himself from attempting to wipe his brow when he remembered his cooling cup of tea. "Don't scare me, Bills, I'm a poor, fragile thing," he ordered, his accent lengthening the "Ooo" sound pleasantly. Propping the phone between his shoulder and ear, David pulled his microwave door open and settled his mug on the revolving tray to be heated back up. As he poked the bleeping buttons, he searched mentally for some safer topic of conversation to introduce. Then he remembered the package he'd sent to her before retiring at noon. "So you got my wee parcel, then? I thought you'd appreciate it, love, an' I've got to say that tha' massage place was really phenomenal! I was reduced to a mere lump of satiation very quickly," David sighed, longing tingeing his voice rather heavily.
Billie smiled fondly, remembering. "But you always were such a whore for a massage, David! I could make you moan so loudly, you'd think we were doing a bleeding sex scene!" she declared, and giggled as he groaned dramatically for her benefit. "You wouldn't turn anyone down who ventured their hands in the direction of your shoulders."
"But it's sooooo good, Bill," he sighed, the lust for having his tense muscles squished about evident in his voice.
"I know, sweetheart, I know," she obliged him, knowing that he suffered from constant discomfort in the neck-and-shoulders area. "An' those daft snaps, David!" she interjected, "I mean, do you ever do anything serious on that 'Doctor Who' program, eh?"
"I'm a whore for the camera, as well," he claimed, unashamed. "Especially when my Billie is the intended recipient. I've got to do something to make-believe you're there with me, and pulling barmy faces seemed the most efficient way."
Gazing down at the stack and smirking, Billie said, "You're such a loon, David! As if you could *really* get your tongue up your nose! Reminds me of the Doctor's line about the elbow. Bet if the fangirls got hold of that one, they'd manage to make it into something kinky," she crowed, laughing delightedly.
"My mind is pure, Bill, an' I have no notion of which you speak," he intoned piously, and moved to retrieve his re-heated tea from his microwave.
"The script, David!" she exclaimed suddenly, only just remembering its lumbering presence amongst the precious gifts from her friend. "The script! I can't believe you had the bollocks to copy your Super Top-Secret Script and send it across hundreds of miles of countryside! If Russell found out, he'd make sure you had no more bollocks to pass around, mate," she said, pursing her lips.
"I know," he moaned with some trepidation. "It took me two days to even decide whether to do it or not. I've bitten my poor nails practically to the quick, and my hair is standing up on end rather more than usual from the stress!"
Billie couldn't help laughing at the picture he painted in her mind, though she did hope that he was exaggerating. He had enough to think about and be worried about just with his day-to-day job; she was already determined that she wouldn't add to it, if she could help it. "Shut up, you cheeky bastard!" she ordered with a smirk, trying to divert her darker thoughts. "So, is there anything good in the script--apart from Russell's usual brilliance, of course. Any choice tidbits?"
David knew exactly what his friend was asking, even if she wasn't quite aware of it herself: what she really wanted to know was how many times she--Rose--had been mentioned in the script, and with what emphasis. "Ehmm, I'm a bit surprised you didn't simply fling my other offerings aside and devour the script as soon as it was in your possession," he murmured as he padded with bare feet out of his small kitchen, tea in hand, and into the living room where his well-thumbed script lay sprawled on the coffee table.
"I thought about it," she admitted.
"I'm sure you did, you ungrateful minx," he replied, seating himself on the edge of his ugly sofa with his tea and flipping through the script in question. Knowing that this conversation would be coming, David had taken it upon himself to mark the text at the appropriate Rose-related intervals, bright pink tape sticking up from the top edge of the bundled sheaf. It wasn't really necessary, he knew, deep down. He'd known the relevant sections by heart almost from his first reading of the text, and had no real need of reference. He could quote them verbatim. But there was no sense in fumbling about when things came to a head, he'd decided. Better to be prepared. They both knew what they wanted.
"I'll read it all, God knows how many times," she admitted ruefully, "but I would like to hear where the good bits are from the pro himself."
David glanced at the clock hanging on his wall, which reminded him to "Mind the Gap"; it was a gift from Billie, a joint present, really, something they could share and be connected with. He had approximately forty-five minutes until he was due on-set for make-up and costuming. And what better way to spend that time than in chatting away with his favorite person in the world. Was there anyone better than his Billie, he wondered? David didn't think so.
Shaking his head slightly against his fancy, David turned to the first pink tab. "Page seven, the Doctor and Donna are in the TARDIS," he read slowly, his voice measured. "Donna discovers a purple top draped over a railing. She picks it up and thrusts it toward the Doctor accusingly. 'I'm not the first, am I? How many women have you abducted?' she asks with some force. The Doctor's eyes fix on the top. It is Rose's top. 'That's my friend's,' he says quietly. 'Where is she, popped out for a space walk?' Donna asks sarcastically. 'She's gone,' the Doctor says flatly, his eyes dead."
Author's Note: Well, what did you think? I do like to focus on their obvious close friendship when I write, and I hope I've captured it adequately here. 

I am forced into making this two posts due to length, apparently.
Should I write about the commentary, or not?
I appreciate all comments!
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(no subject) [Aug. 25th, 2008|08:45 pm]

i have two nominations to offer you, and here they are:



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RPF: Goodbye..... [Aug. 7th, 2008|01:37 am]
[Tags|, , , ]
[Current Mood |cheerfulcheerful]
[Current Music |"Leader of the Band" by Dan Fogelburg]

Title:                 Goodbye
Author:             Noisseau
Rating:             PG

Disclaimer:    This story about Christopher Eccleston, Billie Piper, and 
                         David Tennant is entirely fictional and is in no way meant to 

Summary:      In the last week of filming Series 1, Christopher Eccleston is 
                         thinking about leaving the show when he recieves a visit from 
                         Billie Piper....

Author's Note: I promise this is actually still about David and Billie


Christopher Eccleston was sad to leave "Doctor Who" for certain reasons.  On 
the other hand, he was also happy to leave it behind.  It had been a grueling 
nine months shoot, especially to someone who was used to short, two-month 
filming periods before moving on to the next challenge.  Physically challenging 
and sporting a wide range of emotional requirements, he had to admit that the 
role of the Doctor was rather exhausting.  But it was satisfying, as well.  
He'd proven, at least to the cast and crew's standards, that he could be both 
funny and charming if he so desired.  And if he hadn't managed to make too many 
friends with his brooding personality, those he had found were proving to be 
most satisfying.

Having retreated to his trailer following some of his final scenes as the 
Doctor, Chris was eager to shed his television guise and resume something more 
comfortable.  His customary leather jacket and burgundy jumper having been 
relinquished to the care of the costume department, Chris hastily stripped off 
his sweat-soaked undershirt and breathed a sigh of relief.  The cool air felt 
good on his bare torso and served to momentarily soothe his aching muscles. 

Stretching was in order, he decided, as he bent to unlace the heavy boots he 
wore for his role as the Doctor.  Wearing only his socks and dark jeans, Chris 
bent slowly in half and grasped his toes, groaning piteously as his poor 
muscles protested the ill treatment.  He held his position for the correct 
length of time before erecting himself and clasping his hands together to 
stretch his quivering arms over his head.  There had been quite a lot of 
holding and lifting involved in his last scenes of the day, and his biceps and 
triceps were now protesting full-throatedly.

Chris was a runner, really.  And though that meant that he was lean and well 
muscled all over his body, the use of upper-body strength was always much more 
taxing than any amount of scurrying about under the camera's eye.

Continuing with his stretches, Chris clasped his hands behind his back and drew 
his arms up behind himself as far as they would reach, groaning loudly and 
unashamedly as the pain and pleasure knifed through them.  His eyes fluttered 
closed as his pectoral muscles stretched with the movement of his arms.  It was 
so good to not be in action for once, to be merely attempting relaxation.

A knock sounded at his trailer door, and he groaned again at the interruption. 

Whatever they wanted, he was not available, he thought firmly.

"Chris?" a sweet voice called through the thin partition.  "Wondering if we 
could have a chat," it insisted, the good-natured humor always to the fore.

Sighing, he allowed an involuntary smile to spread over his face. 

It was Billie, and she somehow always knew how to make him not-quite-as-grumpy 
as he was before.

Unclasping his hands from behind his back, he involuntarily ran one palm over 
his short-cropped hair, as if it could make any difference at all to his normal 
appearance.  Whatever.  She could take him as he came.  It had never made any 
difference in the past, after all.

Striding across the trailer to the flimsy door, he opened it and ushered his 
co-star in without shame for his half-naked state.  Chris wasn't really the 
sort who was bothered by appearances or other peoples' perceptions.  And Billie 
was safe.  Immensely safe.  Unbelievably safe.  She was one of those friends he 
had made, those few friends, who could see past the mask and were interested 
always in him as a person.  Who were interested in his acting techniques and 
genuinely wanted to learn from him. 

She was so young and he'd been acting for so long, that a sort of give-and-take 
had formed between them from their very first scenes together, in which they 
learned from one another in a wholly unexpected way.

Billie was not his best friend, by any means, but she was certainly up there in 
the Top Ten most marvelous people he'd ever had the fortune to encounter.  
Chris loved Billie, and he knew the feeling was mutual; they could tell each 
other things, without worrying about the consequences.

"Entree, ma cherie," he intoned with a smirk, waving his hand vaguely in the 
direction of the unkempt green sofa.

"Mmmmm," she said, running her eyes up and down his unclad torso unashamedly.  
"My, but you're looking fit, mate," she observed, plopping down on his worn 
cushions and grinning at him.

"Training for a marathon," Chris explained simply, selecting a dark t-shirt 
from his chest of drawers to pull over his head.

"Still," she crowed, a delighted grin stretching her lips, "you'd better watch 
yourself, Chris, it's only through Russell's kindness that you're not saddled 
with more fangirls than you can handle.  They must be beatin' down your door!"

"Oh, stop it, ya flirt!"  He grinned as he settled the clean shirt across his 
torso.  Padding over to the sofa, which was the sole seating option not covered 
with piles of script offers, Chris allowed himself to drop heavily down beside 
her and leaned his head back with a tired sigh.  "One week left," he murmured, 
and couldn't quite keep the longing from his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris could just make out Billie's sympathetic 
expression as she reached out to squeeze his nearest hand.  "Yep, not long now, 
an' you'll be shot of us for good," she promised with a smile.  "An' I'm sure 
you'll find some excellent script among that pile of rubbish, soon enough," she 
added, gesturing with her free hand at the precariously balanced stacks on his 
small dining table.

Turning his head on the sofa back, he gave her a small, tired smile, and then 
gave into a sudden impulse.  "Come 'ere," he ordered quietly, dropping her hand 
and stretching his long, still-aching arm out to coax her closer to him.  
Billie settled happily against his side, his arm draping across her shoulders 
and her head propped under his chin, and let out a contented sigh.  Chris knew 
she liked to touch people, just to connect to them, and it seemed to make her 
feel safe when she could snuggle up to him like a little girl.

Squeezing her shoulders affectionately, Christopher allowed the silence to 
stretch, content as always to just sit and think, Billie's calm, quiet presence 
being no hindrance.

Eventually, Billie's lilting voice emerged from somewhere in the vicinity of 
his chest, asking, "So what'cha gonna do next, Chris, apart from the acting, I 

A quiet smile of anticipation spread across Christopher's face.  "It's back to 
Lancashire wi' me, least for a bit.  Catch up with me mates down the pub.  
Maybe meet with the theater manager in Salford an' see if they've any need for 
an out-of-work actor," he said, chuckling.

She joined in his laughter, appreciating the ridiculous notion that any theater 
company in the country would even contemplate turning him away after having 
played the Doctor.  "Oh!" she exclaimed, pulling out of their comfortable slump 
and turning to face him with unbridled glee written across her face.  "Did I 
tell you earlier?  I finally got to meet David Tennant last night over dinner 
at Julie's house!"  Billie bounced like a playful child next to him and 
clutched at his arm with elation.

Chris let a pleased grin stretch across his lips, not at all bothered that his 
co-star was so excited about meeting his replacement.  He was her friend after 
all, and he wanted her to have as pleasant a work environment as possible.  And 
he had few regrets about his decision to leave the show.  David Tennant was an 
excellent actor, so Christopher was content to leave the role he'd continued in 
capable hands.  If they'd picked someone rubbishy, it'd be a different story, 
but Chris had no worries about his successor.  "That's fantastic, Bill!  So, 
did you like him?  Did you two get on?" he asked, though the answer seemed 
pretty obvious from her behavior.

"Like a house on fire!" Billie crowed excitedly.  "It was a bit weird, I 
suppose, but it was like he was instantly my best mate!  We talked endlessly 
about all sorts of rubbish, an' he's very funny."  She smirked cheekily and 
added, "Not at all like you, you old grouch."

"Oi!" he protested, though he knew she was only teasing.  He reached out to 
pinch her cheek playfully.  "I'll 'ave you know, you cheeky devil, that I 
happen to be the life of the party!"  He paused, rethinking his assessment.  
"Well, alright, maybe not, bu' I'm still undeniably hilarious," he insisted 
with a smirk.

"'Course you are, Chris!  Don't know what I'd have done without you these long 
months.  I mean, Russell coulda chosen a complete bastard to play the Doctor, 
so I'm very glad I ended up with you," Billie said seriously, reaching down to 
squeeze his hand.  "An' now it seems I'm to be lucky again!  I think David is 
gonna be...."

"Fantastic?" he queried with an indulgent smile.

She giggled happily.  "Yup, fantastic!  Though I'll have to think of another 
description, as I'm sure you hold the copyright to that word."

"Well, let me know what you come up with, love," Chris ordered, smiling still 
as he rose easily to his feet and plucked a much-thumbed script off the top of 
the nearest stack.  "So, Bill, I was wonderin' if you'd read this one over for 
me in your minimal spare time an' tell me what you think of it.  There's some 
excellent writing there, an' I'm really tempted to take the part," he said, 
passing her the bundle of paper and resuming his seat.

"'Perfect Parents'?  It's certainly an interesting title, I'll give ya that."  
She grinned at him and leant her head against his shoulder.  "I've got nothing 
planned for tonight, so I'll settle down with this long read and a cuppa.  An' 
I've already learnt my lines, anyway, not that there's that many of 'em left," 
she smirked, knowing that Chris would appreciate the thought of finally being 
done with filming.

"Oh, yes," he moaned, reaching up one solidly built hand to rub at his weary 
eyes.  Wrapping his free arm around her again, Chris squeezed her 
affectionately to his side.  "It's been fun, Bill, lots of fun, but I can't say 
I'm not eager to move on.  New horizons, an' all that.  An' I know you'll still 
be carryin' the torch for me."  He looked down at her, catching her gaze and 
saying seriously, "Your new Doctor's a good man, kiddo, an' I'm chuffed you 
like him."

"Oh?" she asked in surprise.  "Have you met him, then?"

"Not that often, really.  We did a scene together in 'Jude,' and I have to say 
I was very impressed with him, a good lad an' a fine actor.  An' o' course, I 
had a chat with him the other day, along with Russell."

"Oi, you prat!" she exclaimed, smacking him on his hard thigh in remonstrance.  
"Why didn't ya tell me?  I'd have liked to have your take on him before we had 
dinner.  Mighta been more prepared to be bowled over by his puppyish 
enthusiasm."  Her broad grin belied her scolding, however.

"Better to let you make your own mind up, I thought," he smirked, not looking 
the least bit sorry for keeping her in the dark.

"Well, thanks, I suppose," she muttered grudgingly.  And it hadn't mattered in 
the least, she thought.  Billie couldn't imagine not having liked David Tennant 
instantly, regardless of any prior information.  He was just so witty and 
smiley and daft.  He lit up a room, and Billie was positive he would light up 
the small screen without any obvious effort.  "Hey," she said, leaning her head 
back onto her co-star's shoulder, "d'ya think they'll have him use his Scottish 
accent, or not?  He's already demonstrated that he can do any number of voices, 
but I have to say I'm quite a fan of the Scots burr."

"Don't know," Chris murmured, his eyes slipping closed sleepily.  "I expect 
not, though.  Fun as it would be to make the new Doctors a 'tour of the 
regions,' I think Russell will want to make the new Doc more accessible to 
children all over Britain.  Maybe a bit of Cockney, though, eh?" he posited, 
smiling slightly.

Slapping his chest playfully, Billie said, "Nah, I think Rose has got that 
covered, thanks.  Can't have clashing accents.  An' I've got too used to you, 
Mr. Northerner."

" 'Lots of planets have a North,' " Chris intoned with a chuckle.

Billie giggled.  "That line gets me every time!" she crowed.

A comfortable silence settled between them for several minutes, before Chris 
felt himself startled out of a doze as Billie shifted against his side.  
Groaning and rubbing his eyes again, he gave her one last squeeze before 
pulling away.  "I'm falling asleep, lass.  Better go home before I'm not fit to 
drive," he said briskly, smiling down at her tousled blond head.

"Right-ho, mister.  'Sides, a friend gave me this script to read, an' I can't 
let him down," she said, grinning cheekily.

"Slave driver, me," he replied with good humor.

They stood together, and Billie couldn't help moving toward him once again and 
wrapping her arms around his torso in a fierce hug.  "I'll miss you lots, you 
old humbug," she whispered, feeling herself tear up a bit as his wiry arms 
squeezed her to his chest.

One big hand came up to stroke her hair soothingly, and he bent his head to 
kiss her forehead.  "I know, sweetheart.  I'll miss you, too," he said softly 
and sincerely.  "You'll be just fine though, Bill, an' I'm only a phone call away."

Billie sniffed wetly as she pulled away slightly, looking up at him with a 
watery smile.  On impulse, she stood on tiptoe, bracing herself on his broad 
shoulders and planting an affectionate kiss on his rough cheek.

Chris smiled warmly at her and, seeing that her mascara was beginning to run 
with her tears, he reached into his back pocket and handed her his clean cotton 
handkerchief.  "Buck up, lass, ya still have an entire week to put up with me," 
he reminded her, smirking.

Billie was grinning, even as she dabbed at her streaming eyes.  "Suppose I'll 
manage to survive it, grouchy," she said, her lips stretching wide and her 
tongue poking out between her teeth.  Looking down at his now stained 
handkerchief, she bit her lip in chagrin.  "Sorry 'bout that, mate.  Looks like 
I've ruined it."

"No matter," he said easily as they walked toward his trailer door.  "Nothing 
me mum can't get out, I'm sure."

Tucking the script under her arm, Billie took his hand one last time and 
squeezed it affectionately.  It had always seemed natural to hold his hand, 
even before they'd acted their first scene together as Rose and the Doctor.  
"I'll see ya tomorrow, Chris, an' you'd better be prepared for my critique of 
this role of yours," she warned, giving him one last smile before releasing his 
hand and exiting through his flimsy trailer door.

"Bye, then," Christopher called and smiled as she gave him a hearty wave and 
skipped away in the direction of her car.  He sighed then, allowing himself to 
acknowledge that this, leaving Billie behind, was probably the largest of the 
few regrets he felt over leaving "Doctor Who."

It was always hard to say goodbye, he mused, grabbing his keys and jacket and 
vacating his trailer for what would be one of the last times.  But the 
experience was always worth the pain.


Author's Note:

I decided to write this story about the transition from Christopher Eccleston's 
time on Doctor Who after watching a bunch of interviews, the first series, and 
"Elizabeth," in which he is brilliant and quite hot.  I felt I understood him 
enough to be able to write him believably.  As it strikes me, I think Chris is 
a Thinker, and David is a Talker, which isn't to say that David isn't a smarty 
and Chris isn't very articulate.  The contrast between the two predominantly 
Contemplative and Active men interests me.  And I thought it would be 
interesting to see how Chris would react to Billie's enthusiasm over her new 

Hope you liked it!

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RPF: Waking......a DTBP story..... [Jul. 21st, 2008|04:35 pm]
[Tags|, , ]
[Current Mood |amusedamused]
[Current Music |"I Got a Name" by Jim Croce]

Title:         Waking

Author:     Noisseau 
Rating:     PG

Disclaimer:    This story about David Tennant and Billie Piper is entirely 
                    fictional and is in no way meant to offend.

Summary:     During the filming of the second series of Doctor Who, 
                    Billie Piper is sent to retrieve her co-star from his nap........




He stirred slightly at the sound of his name, then turned his head 
mutinously into the pillow he clutched and burrowed against it 


"David."  The voice was more insistent.  "Get your arse up, lazy bones."


He groaned piteously, thinking dim, luscious thoughts about how 
wonderful it was to be Not Moving and how welcoming this Nice Soft Bed 


Feeling the edge of the bed sink under the intruder's weight, he tried 
to drag his hand-quilted blanket up over his tousled head, only to have 
it wrenched from his grip as the bed began to quake alarmingly.


"Come on, Teninch, me lovely," the voice insisted, laughter bubbling up 
underneath.  "They're ready for us onset, and you've gotta get your 
pompadour seen to."  There was a slight pause and then a giggle and 
then, "Mind you, it probably looks bang on in character now, straight 
out of bed!"


He cracked one eyelid minutely, taking in the lovely sight of his co-
star and best mate, Billie Piper, bouncing up and down on his narrow 
trailer bed, trying to jostle and cajole him out of his well-earned 
nap.  She was grinning mischievously, her honeyed hair flouncing up and 
down in the air as she bounced.  Peering into her face, David saw that 
she had yet to visit the make-up trailer, and quite probably was being 
so insistent because she wanted him in there with her for a leisurely 
gab fest. 


That settled it, then.


Bouncing ever higher, Billie started to say, "We've gotta shift, Davy, 
we're running out of ti--"  She wasn't allowed to finish her 
admonition, because the seemingly still inert man in the bed suddenly 
surged up from his prone position and grabbed her 'round the waist, 
flinging her down where he'd just lain and shoving his pillow into her 
face.  This was, however, merely a diversion, allowing said whip-thin 
man to carry out the tickling punishment he'd justly levied for being 
so rudely awakened.


"How dare you wake me, ye daft child," he thundered comically, digging 
the tips of his fingers into strategic places along her sides and 
and grinning happily as Billie's uncontrolled laughter rang out 
echoed in the small trailer.  "An' I was having a smashing dream 
about haggis, as well," he interjected, and the feminine laughter 
redoubled, verging on the hysterical.  She batted his pillow away from 
her face, and he noted that a few tears had begun to leak from her 
eyes, though her face was creased only with wild merriment.  "You know 
you deserve this, Miss Piper," he insisted, beginning to laugh himself 
as Bille tried to distract him by tickling him back.  Giggling and 
flinching away from her exploration at the side of his ribcage, David 
decided to bring out the big guns, to end this once and for all with 
his squirming friend at his mercy, unable to retaliate.


David's long fingers suddenly shot away from their former haunts and 
landed firmly along her collarbone.  Billie's eyes widened in 
trepidation, and she tried desperately to pry his hands away, locking 
her fingers around his wrists and tugging, but he was too strong.  The 
fingers dug into the pliant flesh behind her clavicle, and Billie was 
lost, every thought apart from escape flying out of her head.  As 
laughter poured from her open mouth, she felt suddenly weak and 
ineffectual, completely unable to fend off her co-star's attack.  She 
could only squirm this way and that, trying to press her shoulders up 
close to her neck and deny him access.


Through a haze of tears, she could see David grinning down at her, his 
brow furrowed in concentration, and she had to admit defeat.


"Alright, alright, you prat, you win!" she bellowed, but he seemed 
reluctant, so she added, "Please!  You're gonna make me pee all over 
your mum's quilt!" 


This threat was enough to make the man relent and lean back on one 
elbow.  They were both still grinning and panting a bit from the 
exertion of the attack.


"Prat," Billie said again, scrubbing at her eyes to clear away the 
tears of laughter.  "'S a good thing for you, my lad, that I haven't 
been to make up yet.  You'd have hell to pay if you'd got me all 
covered in runny mascara!"  She reached out to pinch his cheek, and he 
batted her hand away, wrinkling his nose. 


"Your hair's all wonky," she informed him, trying to suppress her

natural laughter. 


She had no desire to be attacked again, after all.


"And here I thought my hair wasn't effected in the least by being 
subjected to naptime," David said, smirking down at her, a dimple 
appearing on his cheek.  "Had it from a good source, in fact, though I 
suppose she is a bit daft," he drawled, his accent sliding south into a 
heavier brogue than he normally spoke with.  He reached out one long-
fingered hand, smirking again as she flinched a bit, but he merely used 
it to tuck some of her blond hair behind her ear.  "Ye wee timorous 
beastie," he intoned merrily, using one of his own lines from the 
previous day's shooting.


"Oi!" Billie exclaimed, punching him lightly in the center of his 
orange t
-shirt, knocking him off his elbow and back against the wall.  
"I'm neither timorous nor daft, thank you very much, and I'll stand 
corrected about my former statement if you'll go look at yourself in 
the mirror, mate," she said, grinning hugely.


He sighed.  It must be bad, indeed.  "Alright then, shift yourself, 
Bill," he said, shoving at her hip to get her out of his bed.  "And if 
I hear even a peep of laughter out of you, I can only say that there 
will be consequences, my friend," he warned, though truth to tell, he 
didn't actually mind being laughed at by his best mate.  If she was 
happy, then so was he.


Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, David stepped hesitantly in front 
of the small mirror over his sink.  It was rather bad.  His fringe, 
which normally stuck straight out over his forehead like the prow of a 
ship, was still sticking out, but it had apparently decided that a 
ninety-degree turn to the left was in order.  Now, the actor loved the 
world over for his portrayal of the Doctor looked as though there was a 
high wind howling past his face, choosing only to catch his long fringe 
in its powerful grip. 


It looked very silly, so David couldn't help grinning as he swung 
around to face his best mate, who was seated on the edge of his bed, 
her hand clamped tightly over her mouth to hold in her silent 
laughter.  "Must have slept on me face," he opined, and didn't begrudge 
her the helpless giggles she could no longer contain.


He reached up to try and repair the damage, but halted at Billie's 
insistent, "Wait!  Don't touch it, Teninch, I gotta get a snap of 


As she searched her pockets frantically for her cell phone, David 
thought about ignoring her order and carrying on with fixing his hair, 
but then remembered that she was his best mate and subsided.  It wasn't 
as if she would release the picture to the press or anything, so where 
was the harm in allowing her yet another ridiculous photograph of him?  
So, resigned, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets as he watched 
her emerge from the depths of her parka triumphantly clutching her 
camera phone. 


He tried smiling, as one normally does when having ones picture taken, 
Billie insisted that he keep a straight face, maintaining that his 
grin would distract the eye from his ridiculous hair.  "An' we can't 
have that, eh Davy?"


"No, no, obviously," he said, a bit sarcastically, though still trying 
not to grin and ruin her picture. 


She pointed the phone at his face, took careful aim, and depressed the 
capture button.  She then sidled up next to him, allowing him to see 
his daft hair preserved for posterity--a posterity he rather hoped only 
included her.  He sighed again and looked down, only to find her 
looking up at him with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.


"It's very attractive," he conceded, merely to hear her delighted 
squeal.  "Never looked better, Bills, might even start a fashion trend 
with that hair," he said airily, putting his arm across her shoulders 
and squeezing her affectionately to his side.


Billie briefly leant her head against his chest and wrapped her arms 
around his waist, indulging in a quick cuddle, then pulled away and 
grabbed his hand.  "Better go, Davy.  Euros'll be spittin' mad if we're 


"Hold it, lassie," he commanded, pulling her back to stand in front of 
him, using his free hand to smooth down her disheveled blond hair.  
"Can't be goin' out there lookin' like you've just been tumbled in the 
hay loft," he said smirking down at her, and was gratified when she 
grinned at him, her tongue peeking out from between her teeth.  
"There," he pronounced with satisfaction, "now your hair just looks its 
normal, unruly self."


"Oi!" she said again, slapping his chest, then turned toward the door 
and marched out of the trailer, dragging him laughing behind her.


Author's Note:     So, did ya like it?  One thing I like so much about those two is 
                          their obvious friendship, so I thought a happy mates story was 
                          in order.  Feel free to tell me what you think......


Copyright:  2008 Lauren Bahr

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